SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 


A  Paramount  Picture.  Seven  Keys  to  Baldpate. 

WILLIAM  HALOWELL  MAGEE   (DOUGLAS  MAC  LEAN)  ARRIVES 

AT  MYSTERIOUS  BALDPATE. 


SEVEN  KEYS 
TO   BALDPATE 


BY 

EARL  DERR  BIGGERS 

AUTHOR  OF 
LOVE  INSURANCE,  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH  SCENES 

FROM  THE  PHOTOPLAY 

A  PARAMOUNT  PICTURE 

STARRING  DOUGLAS  MAC  LEAN 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  NEW     YORK 


Made  io  the  United  butes  of  America 


COPYRIGHT  1913 


CONTENTS 

;*?'3 

PAGE 

I  "WEEP  No  MORE,  MY  LADY"  .        .        »'      .        1 

II  ENTER  A  LOVELORN  HABERDASHER                ,        *      25 

III  BLONDES  AND  SUFFRAGETTES         .        .        ,         .51 

IV  A  PROFESSIONAL  HERMIT  APPEARS  70 
V  THE  MAYOR  CASTS  A  SHADOW  BEFORE         *        «       89 

VI  GHOSTS  OF  THE  SUMMER  CROWD          .        .        .111 

VII  THE  MAYOR  BEGINS  A  VIGIL        ....     134 

VIII  MR.  MAX  TELLS  A  TALE  OP  SUSPICION         .        .152 

IX    MELODRAMA  IN  THE  Snow 167 

X    THE  COLD  GHAY  DAWN 185 

XI  A  FALSEHOOD  UNDER  THE  PALMS         .        .        .     205 

XII    WOE  IN  NUMBER  SEVEN 224 

XIII  THE  EXQUISITE  MR.  HAYDEN      .        ,        .        .242 

XIV  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OPEN  WINDOW         .        .        .     261 
XV    TABLETALJC 279 

XVI    A  MAN  FROM  THE  DARK 295 

XVII    THE  PROFESSOR  SUMS  UP 311 

XVIII    A  RED  CARD 333 

XIX  EXEUNT  OMNES,  AS  SHAKESPEARE  HAS  IT       „             349 

XX    THE  ADMIRAL'S  GAME 366 

XXI  THE  MAYOR  is  WELCOMED  HOME        .        „        ,379 

XXII  THE  USUAL  THING                               .       ,             395 


SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 


SEVEN  KEYS  TO 
BALDPATE 

CHAPTER  I 
"WEEP  NO  MORE,  MY  LADY" 

ArOUNG  woman  was  crying  bitterly  in  the 
waiting-room  of  the  railway  station  at 
Upper  Asquewan  Falls,  New  York. 

A  beautiful  young  woman?  That  is  exactly 
what  Billy  Magee  wanted  to  know  as,  closing  the 
waiting-room  door  behind  him,  he  stood  staring 
just  inside.  Were  the  features  against  which  that 
frail  bit  of  cambric  was  agonizingly  pressed  of  a 
pleasing  contour?  The  girl's  neatly  tailored  cor 
duroy  suit  and  her  flippant  but  charming  millinery 
augured  well.  Should  he  step  gallantly  forward 
and  inquire  in  sympathetic  tones  as  to  the  cause  of 
her  woe?  Should  he  carry  chivalry  even  to  the 
lengths  of  Upper  Asquewan  Falls  ? 

I 


2         SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

No,  Mr,  Magee  decided  he  would  not.  The 
train  that  had  just  roared  away  into  the  dusk( 
,,  had  not  brought  him  from  the  region  of  sky 
scrapers  and  derby  hats  for  deeds  of  knight  er 
rantry  up  state.  Anyhow,  the  girl's  tears  were 
none  of  his  business.  A  railway  station  was  a 
natural  place  for  grief — a  field  of  many  partings, 
upon  whose  floor  fell  often  in  torrents  the  tears 
of  those  left  behind.  A  friend,  mayhap  a  lover, 
had  been  whisked  off  into  the  night  by  the  relent 
less  five  thirty- four  local.  Why  not  a  lover?  Sure 
ly  about  such  a  dainty  trim  figure  as  this  courtiers 
hovered  as  moths  about  a  flame.  Upon  a  tender 
intimate  sorrow  it  was  not  the  place  of  an  un 
known  Magee  to  intrude.  He  put  his  hand  gently 
Upon  the  latch  of  the  door. 

And  yet — dim  and  heartless  and  cold  was  the 
interior  of  that  waiting-room.  No  place,  surely, 
for  a  gentleman  to  leave  a  lady  sorrowful,  par 
ticularly  when  the  lady  was  so  alluring.  Oh,  be 
yond  question,  she  was  most  alluring.  Mr.  Magee 
stepped  softly  to  the  ticket  window  and  made 
low-voiced  inquiry  of  the  man  inside. 

she  crying  about  ?"  he  asked 


WEEP    NO   MORE,    MY   LADY        3 

A  thin  sallow  face,  on  the  forehead  of  which 
a  mop  of  ginger-colored  hair  lay  listlessly,  was 
pressed  against  the  bars. 

"Thanks,"  said  the  ticket  agent.  "I  get  asked 
the  same  old  questions  so  often,  one  like  yours 
sort  of  breaks  the  monotony.  Sorry  I  can't  help 
you.  She's  a  woman,  and  the  Lord  only  knows 
why  women  cry.  And  sometimes  I  reckon  even 
He  must  be  a  little  puzzled.  Now,  my  wife — " 

"I  think  I'll  ask  her,"  confided  Mr.  Magee  in 
a  hoarse  whisper. 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't,"  advised  the  man  behind  the 
bars.  "It's  best  to  let  'em  alone.  They  stop  quick 
er  if  they  ain't  noticed." 

"But  she's  in  trouble,"  argued  Billy  Magee. 

"And  so'll  you  be,  most  likely,"  responded  the 
cynic,  "if  you  interfere.  No,  siree!  Take  my 
advice.  Shoot  old  Asquewan's  rapids  in  a  barrel 
if  you  want  to,  but  keep  away  from  crying 


women." 


The  heedless  Billy  Magee,  however,  was  al 
ready  moving  across  the  unscrubbed  floor  with 
chivalrous  intention. 

The  girl's  trim  shoulders  no  longer  heaved  so 


4         SEVEN    KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

unhappily.  Mr.  Magee,  approaching,  thought 
himself  again  in  the  college  yard  at  dusk,  with  the 
great  elms  sighing  overhead,  and  the  fresh  young 
voices  of  the  glee  club  ringing  out  from  the  steps 
of  a  century-old  building.  What  were  the  words 
they  sang  so  many  times  ? 

"Weep  no  more,  my  lady, 
Oh !  weep  no  more  to-day." 

He  regretted  that  he  could  not  make  use  of 
them.  They  had  always  seemed  to  him  so  sad  and 
beautiful.  But  troubadours,  he  knew,  went  out  of 
fashion  long  before  railway  stations  came  in.  So 
his  remark  to  the  young  woman  was  not  at  all  me 
lodious  : 

"Can  I  do  anything?" 

A  portion  of  the  handkerchief  was  removed, 
and  an  eye  which,  Mr.  Magee  noted,  was  of  an 
admirable  blue,  peeped  out  at  him.  To  the  gaze 
of  even  a  solitary  eye,  Mr.  Magee's  aspect  was 
decidedly  pleasing.  Young  Williams,  who  posed  at 
the  club  as  a  wit,  had  once  said  that  Billy  Magee 
came  as  near  to  being  a  magazine  artist's  idea  of 
the  proper  hero  of  a  story  as  any  man  could,  and 


WEEP   NO   MORE,    MY   LADY        '5 

at  the  same  time  retain  the  respect  and  affection 
of  his  fellows.  Mr.  Magee  thought  he  read  ap 
proval  in  the  lone  eye  of  blue.  When  the  lady 
spoke,  however,  he  hastily  revised  his  opinion. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "you  can  do  something.  You 
can  go  away — far,  far  away." 

Mr.  Magee  stiffened.  Thus  chivalry  fared  in 
Upper  Asquewan  Falls  in  the  year  191 1. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  remarked.  "You 
seemed  to  be  in  trouble,  and  I  thought  I  might 
possibly  be  pf  some  assistance." 

The  girl  removed  the  entire  handkerchief.  The 
other  eye  proved  to  be  the  same  admirable  blue — 
a  blue  half-way  between  the  shade  of  her  cordu 
roy  suit  and  that  of  the  jacky's  costume  in  the 
"See  the  World—Join  the  Navy"  poster  that 
served  as  background  to  her  woe. 

"I  don't  mean  to  be  rude,"  she  explained  more 
gently,  "but — I'm  crying,  you  see,  and  a  girl 
i simply  can't  look  attractive  when  she  cries." 

"If  I  had  only  been  regularly  introduced  to 
you,  and  all  that,"  responded  Mr.  Magee,  "I  could 
make  a  very  flattering  reply."  And  a  true  one,  he 
added  to  himself.  For  even  in  the  faint  flicker- 


6         SEVEN    KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

ing  light  of  the  station  he  found  ample  reason  for 
rejoicing  that  the  bit  of  cambric  was  no  longer 
agonizingly  pressed.  As  yet  he  had  scarcely 
looked  away  from  her  eyes,  but  he  was  dimly 
aware  that  up  above  wisps  of  golden  hair  peeped 
impudently  from  beneath  a  saucy  black  hat.  He 
would  look  at  those  wisps  shortly,  he  told  him 
self.  As  soon  as  he  could  look  away  frpm  the 
eyes — which  was  not  just  yet. 

"My  grief,"  said  the  girl,  "is  utterly  silly  and — 
womanish.  I  think  it  would  be  best  to  leave  me 
alone  with  it.  Thank  you  for  your  interest.  And 
— would  you  mind  asking  the  gentleman  who  is 
pressing  his  face  so  feverishly  against  the  bars  to 
kindly  close  his  window?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  Mr.  Magee.  He  turned 
away.  As  he  did  so  he  collided  with  a  rather  ex 
cessive  lady.  She  gave  the  impression  of  solidity 
and  bulk ;  her  mouth  was  hard  and  knowing.  Mr. 
^fagee  felt  that  she  wanted  to  vote,  and  that  she 
would  say  as  much  from  time  to  time.  The  lady 
had  a  glittering  eye ;  she  put  it  to  its  time-honored 
use  and  fixed  Mr.  Magee  with  it. 

"I  was  crying,  mamma,"  the  girl  explained, 


WEEP   NO   MORE,   MY  LADY        7 

'and  this  gentleman  inquired  if  he  cpuld  be  of  any; 


service." 


Mamma!  Mr.  Magee  wanted  to  add  his  tears 
'to  those  of  the  girl.  This  frail  and  lovely  damsel 
in  distress  owning  as  her  maternal  parent  a  heavy 
unnecessary — -person !  The  older  woman  also  had 
yellow  hair,  but  it  was  the  sort  that  suggests  the 
white  enamel  pallor  of  a  drug  store,  with  the  soda- 
fountain  fizzing  and  the  bottles  of  perfume  ranged 
in  an  odorous  row.  Mamma!  Thus  rolled  the 
world  along. 

"Well,  they  ain't  no  use  gettin*  all  worked  up 
for  nothing,"  advised  the  unpleasant  parent.  Mr. 
Magee  was  surprised  that  in  her  tone  there  was  no 
hostility  to  him — thus  belying  her  looks.  "Mebbe 
the  gentleman  can  direct  us  to  a  good  hotel,"  she 
added,  with  a  rather  stagy  smile. 

"I'm  a  stranger  here,  too,"  Mr.  Magee  replied.; 
"I'll  interview  the  man  over  there  in  the  cage." 

The  gentleman  referred  to  was  not  cheerful  in 
his  replies.  There  was,  he  said,  Baldpate  Inn, 

"Oh,  yes,  Baldpate  Inn,"  repeated  Billy  Magee 
with  interest. 

"Yes,  that's  a  pretty  swell  place,"  said  the  ticket 


8         SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

agent.  "But  it  ain't  open  now.  It's  a  summer  re 
sort  There  ain't  no  place  open  now  but  the  Com 
mercial  House.  And  I  wouldn't  recommend  no 
human  being  there — especially  no  lady  who  was 
sad  before  she  ever  saw  it." 

Mr.  Magee  explained  to  the  incongruous  family 
pair  waiting  on  the  bench. 

"There's  only  one  hotel,"  he  said,  "and  I'm 
told  it's  not  exactly  the  place  for  any  one  whose 
outlook  on  life  is  not  rosy  at  the  moment.  I'm 
sorry." 

"It  will  do  very  well,"  answered  the  girl,  "what 
ever  it  is."  She  smiled  at  Billy  Magee.  "My  out 
look  on  life  in  Upper  Asquewan  Falls,"  she  said, 
"grows  rosier  every  minute.  We  must  find  a 
cab." 

She  began  to  gather  up  her  traveling-bags,  and 
Mr.  Magee  hastened  to  assist.  The  three  went 
out  on  the  station  platform,  dpon  which  lay  a  thin 
carpet  of  snowflakes.  There  the  older  woman,  in 
a  harsh  rasping  voice,  found  fault  with  Upper 
Asquewan  Falls, — its  geography,  its  public  spirit, 
its  brand  of  weather.  A  dejected  cab  at  the  end 
of  the  platform  stood  mourning  its  lonely  lot.  In 


I 

WEEP    NO    MORE,    MY   LADY        9 

it  Mr.  Magee  placed  the  large  lady  and  the  bags. 
Then,  while  the  driver  climbed  to  his  seat,  he 
spoke  into  the  invisible  ear  of  the  girl. 

"You  haven't  told  me  why  you  cried,'*  he  re 
minded  her. 

She  waved  her  hand  toward  the  wayside  village, 
the  lamps  of  which  shone  sorrowfully  through  the 
snow. 

"Upper  Asquewan  Falls,"  she  said,  "isn't  it 
reason  enough?" 

Billy  Magee  looked ;  saw  a  row  of  gloomy  build 
ings  that  seemed  to  list  as  the  wind  blew,  a  blurred 
sign  "Liquors  and  Cigars,"  a  street  that  staggered 
away  into  the  dark  like  a  man  who  had  lingered 
too  long  at  the  emporium  back  of  the  sign. 

"Are  you  doomed  to  stay  here  long?"  he  asked. 

"Come  on,  Mary,"  cried  a  deep  voice  from  the 
cab.  "Get  in  and  shut  the  door.  I'm  freezing." 

"It  all  depends,"  said  the  girl.  "Thank  you  for 
being  so  kind  and — good  night." 

The  door  closed  with  a  muffled  bang,  the  cab 
creaked  wearily  away,  and  Mr.  Magee  turned  back 
to  the  dim  waiting-room. 

"Well,  what  was  she  crying  for?"  inquired  the 


io       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

ticket  agent,  when  Mr.  Magee  stood  again  at  his 
cell  window. 

"She  didn't  think  much  of  your  town,"  re-: 
sponded  Magee;  "she  intimated  that  it  made  her 
heavy  of  heart" 

"H'm — it  ain't  much  of  a  place,"  admitted  the 
man,  "though  it  ain't  the  general  rule  with  visitors 
to  burst  into  tears  at  sight  of  it.  Yes,  Upper  As- 
quewan  is  slow,  and  no  mistake.  It  gets  on  my 
nerves  sometimes.  Nothing  to  do  but  work,  work, 
work,  and  then  lay  down  and  wait  for  to-morrow. 
I  used  to  think  maybe  some  day  they'd  transfer 
me  down  to  Hooperstown — there's  moving  pic 
tures  and  such  goings-on  down  there.  But  the 
railroad  never  notices  you — unless  you  go  wrong. 
Yes,  sir,  sometimes  I  want  to  clear  out  of  this 
town  myself." 

"A  natural  wanderlust,"  sympathized  Mr.  Ma- 
jjee.  "You  said  something  just  now  about  Bald- 
pate  Inn — " 

"Yes,  it's  a  little  more  lively  in  summer,  when 
that's  open,"  answered  the  agent;  "we  get  a  lot  of 
complaints  about  trunks  not  coming,  from  pretty 


WEEP    NO   MORE,    MY   LADY      11 

swell  people,  too.  It  sort  of  cheers  things."  His 
eye  roamed  with  interest  over  Mr.  Magee's  New 
York  attire.  "But  Baldpate  Inn  is  shut  up  tight 
now.  This  is  nothing  but  an  annex  to  a  grave 
yard  in  winter.  You  wasn't  thinking  of  stopping 
off  here,  was  you?" 

"Well — I  want  to  see  a  man  named  Elijah 
Quimby,"  Mr.  Magee  replied.  "Do  you  know 
him?" 

"Of  course,"  said  the  yearner  for  pastures  new, 
"he's  caretaker  of  the  inn.  His  house  is  about  a 
mile  out,  on  the  old  Miller  Road  that  leads  up 
Baldpate.  Come  outside  and  I'll  tell  you  how  ta 
get  there." 

The  two  men  went  out  into  the  whirling  snow, 
and  the  agent  waved  a  hand  indefinitely  up  at  the 
night. 

"If  it  was  clear,"  he  said,  "you  could  see  Bald 
pate  Mountain,  over  yonder,  looking  down  on  the 
Falls,  sort  of  keeping  an  eye  on  us  to  make  sure 
we  don't  get  reckless.  And  half-way  up  you'd  see 
Baldpate  Inn,  black  and  peaceful  and  winter-y. 
Just  follow  this  street  to  the  third  corner,  and 


12       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

turn  to  your  left.  Elijah  lives  in  a  little  house 
back  among  the  trees  a  mile  out — there's  a  gate 
you'll  sure  hear  creaking  on  a  night  like  this." 

Billy  Magee  thanked  him,  and  gathering  up  his 
two  bags,  walked  up  "Main  Street."  A  dreary 
forbidding  building  at  the  first  corner  bore  the 
sign  "Commercial  House".  Under  the  white  gas 
light  in  the  ofBce  window  three  born  pessimists 
slouched  low  in  hotel  chairs,  gazing  sourly  out  at 
the  storm. 

"Weep  no  more,  my  lady, 
Oh !  weep  no  more  to-day,"  > 

hummed  Mr.  Magee  cynically  under  his  breath, 
and  glanced  up  at  the  solitary  up-stairs  window 
that  gleamed  yellow  in  the  night. 

At  a  corner  on  which  stood  a  little  shop  that  ad 
vertised  "Groceries  and  Provisions"  he  paused. 

"Let  me  see,"  he  pondered.  "The  lights  will  be 
turned  off,  of  course.  Candles.  And  a  little  some 
thing  for  the  inner  man,  in  case  it's  the  closed  sea 
son  for  cooks." 

He  went  inside,  where  a  weary  old  woman 
served  him. 


WEEP   NO   MORE,    MY   LADY      13 

"What  sort  of  candles  ?"  she  inquired,  with  the 
air  of  one  who  had  an  infinite  variety  in  stock. 
Mr.  Magee  remembered  that  Christmas  was  near. 

"For  a  Christmas  tree,"  he  explained.  He  asked 
for  two  hundred. 

"I've  only  got  forty,"  the  woman  said.  "What's 
this  tree  for — the  Orphans'  Home?" 

With  the  added  burden  of  a  package  containing 
his  purchases  in  the  tiny  store,  Mr.  Magee 
emerged  and  continued  his  journey  through  the 
stinging  snow.  Upper  Asquewan  Falls  on  its  way 
home  for  supper  flitted  past  him  in  the  silvery 
darkness.  He  saw  in  the  lighted  windows  of 
many  of  the  houses  the  green  wreath  of  Christ 
mas  cheer.  Finally  the  houses  became  infrequent, 
and  he  struck  put  on  an  uneven  road  that  wound 
upward.  Once  he  heard  a  dog's  faint  bark.  Then 
a  carriage  lurched  by  him,  and  a  strong  voice 
cursed  the  roughness  of  the  road.  Mr.  Magee 
half  smiled  to  himself  as  he  strode  on. 

"Don  Quixote,  my  boy,"  he  muttered,  "I  know 
how  you  felt  when  you  moved  on  the  windmills." 

It  was  not  the  whir  of  windmills  but  the  creak 
of  a  gate  in  the  storm  that  brought  Mr.  Magee  at 


14       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

last  to  a  stop.    He  walked  gladly  up  the  path  to 
Elijah  Quimby 's  door. 

In  answer  to  Billy  Magee's  gay  knock,  a  man  of 
about  sixty  years  appeared.  Evidently  he  had  just 
finished  supper ;  at  the  moment  he  was  engaged  in 
lighting  his  pipe.  He  admitted  Mr.  Magee  into 
the  intimacy  of  the  kitchen,  and  took  a  number  of 
calm  judicious  puffs  on  the  pipe  before  speaking 
to  his  visitor.  In  that  interval  the  visitor  cheerily 
seized  his  hand,  oblivious  of  the  warm  burnt 
match  that  was  in  it.  The  match  fell  to  the  floor, 
whereupon  the  older  man  cast  an  anxious  glance 
at  a  gray-haired  woman  who  stood  beside  the 
kitchen  stove. 

"My  name's  Magee,"  blithely  explained  that 
gentleman,  dragging  in  his  bags.  "And  you're 
Elijah  Quimby,  of  course.  How  are  you  ?  Glad 
to  see  you."  His  air  was  that  of  one  who  had 
known  this  Quimby  intimately,  in  many  odd  cor 
ners  of  the  world. 

The  older  man  did  not  reply,  but  regarded  Mr. 
Magee  wonderingly  through  white  puffs  of  smoke. 
His  face  was  kindly,  gentle,  ineffectual;  he 


WEEP    NO   MORE,    MY   LADY      15 

seemed  to  lack  the  final  "punch"  that  send  men 
over  the  line  to  success;  this  was  evident  in  the 
way  his  necktie  hung,  the  way  his  thin  hands  flut 
tered. 

"Yes,"  he  admitted  at  last.  "Yes,  I'm  Quimby." 

Mr.  Magee  threw  back  his  coat,  and  sprayed 
with  snow  Mrs.  Quimby's  immaculate  floor. 

"I'm  Magee,"  he  elucidated  again,  "William 
Hallowell  Magee,  the  man  Hal  Bentley  wrote  to 
you  about.  You  got  his  letter,  didn't  you  ?" 

Mr.  Quimby  removed  his  pipe  and  forgot  to 
close  the  aperture  as  he  stared  in  amazement. 

"Good  lord!"  he  cried,  "you  don't  mean — 
you've  really  come." 

"What  better  proof  could  you  ask,"  said  Mr. 
Magee  flippantly,  "than  my  presence  here  ?" 

"Why,"  stammered  Mr.  Quimby,  "we — we 
thought  it  was  all  a  joke." 

"Hal  Bentley  has  his  humorous  moments," 
.  agreed  Mr.  Magee,  "but  it  isn't  his  habit  to  fling 
his  jests  into  Upper  Asquewan  Falls." 

"And — and  you're  really  going  to — "  Mr. 
Quimby  could  get  no  further. 


16       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Magee  brightly,  slipping  into  a 
rocking-chair.  "Yes,  I'm  going  to  spend  the  next 
few  months  at  Baldpate  Inn." 

Mrs.  Quimby,  who  seemed  to  have  settled  into 
a  stout  little  mound  of  a  woman  through  standing 
too  long  in  the  warm  presence  of  her  stove,  came 
forward  and  inspected  Mr.  Magee. 

"Of  all  things,"  she  murmured. 

"It's  closed,"  expostulated  Mr.  Quimby;  "the 
inn  is  closed,  young  fellow." 

"I  know  it's  closed,"  smiled  Magee.  "That's 
the  very  reason  I'm  going  to  honor  it  with  my 
presence.  I'm  sorry  to  take  you  out  on  a  night 
like  this,  but  I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  lead  me  up  to 
Baldpate.  I  believe  those  were  Hal  Bentley's  in 
structions — in  the  letter." 

Mr.  Quimby  towered  above  Mr.  Magee,  a  shirt- 
sleeved  statue  of  honest  American  manhood.  He 
scowled. 

"Excuse  a  plain  question,  young  man,"  he  said, 
"but  what  are  you  hiding  from?" 

Mrs.  Quimby,  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  stove, 
paused  to  hear  the  reply.  Billy  Magee  laughed. 

"I'm  not  hiding,"  he  said.    "Didn't  Bentley  ex- 


WEEP   NO   MORE,    MY   LADY      17 

plain?  Well,  I'll  try  to,  though  I'm  not  sure  you'll 
understand.  Sit  down,  Mr.  Quimby.  You  are 
not,  I  take  it,  the  sort  of  man  to  follow  closely  the 
light  and  frivolous  literature  of  the  day/' 

"What's  that?"  inquired  Mr.  Quimby. 

"You  don't  read,"  continued  Mr.  Magee,  "the 
sort  of  novels  that  are  sold  by  the  pound  in  the  de 
partment  stores.  Now,  if  you  had  a  daughter — a 
fluffy  daughter  inseparable  from  a  hammock  in 
the  summer — she  could  help  me  explain.  You  see 
— I  write  those  novels.  Wild  thrilling  tales  for 
the  tired  business  man's  tired  wife — shots  in  the 
night,  chases  after  fortunes,  Cupid  busy  with  his 
arrows  all  over  the  place!  It's  good  fun,  and  I 
like  to  do  it.  There's  money  in  it." 

"Is  there  ?"  asked  Mr.  Quimby  with  a  show  of 
interest. 

"Considerable,"  replied  Mr.  Magee.  "But  now 
and  then  I  get  a  longing  to  do  something  that  will 
make  the  critics  sit  up-— the  real  thing,  you  know. 
The  other  day  I  picked  up  a  newspaper  and  found 
my  latest  brain-child  advertised  as  'the  best  fall 
novel  Magee  ever  wrote'.  It  got  on  my  nerves — 
I  felt  like  a  literary  dressmaker,  and  I  could  see 


i8       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

my  public  laying  down  my  fall  novel  and  sighing 
for  my  early  spring  styles  in  fiction.  I  remem 
bered  that  once  upon  a  time  a  critic  advised  me  to 
go  away  for  ten  years  to  some  quiet  spot,  and 
think.  I  decided  to  do  it.  Baldpate  Inn  is  the 
quiet  spot." 

''You  don't  mean,"  gasped  Mr.  Quimby,  "that 
you're  going  to  stay  there  ten  years  ?" 

"Bless  you,  no,"  said  Mr.  Magee.  "Critics  ex 
aggerate.  Two  months  will  do.  They  say  I  am  a 
cheap  melodramatic  ranter.  They  say  I  don't  go 
deep.  They  say  my  thinking  process  is  a  scream. 
I'm  afraid  they're  right.  Now,  I'm  going  to  go 
up  to  Baldpate  Inn,  and  think.  I'm  going  to  get 
away  from  melodrama.  I'm  going  to  do  a  novel 
so  fine  and  literary  that  Henry  Cabot  Lodge  will 
come  to  me  with  tears  in  his  eyes  and  ask  me  to 
join  his  bunch  of  self-made  Immortals.  I'm  go 
ing  to  do  all  this  up  there  at  the  inn — sitting  on  the 
mountain  and  looking  down  on  this  little  old 

world  as  Jove  looked  down  from  Olympus." 

i 

"I  don't  know  who  you  mean,"  objected  Mr. 
Quimby. 


WEEP   NO   MORE,    MY   LADY      19 

"He  was  a  god — the  god  of  the  fruit-stand 
men,"  explained  Magee.  "Picture  me,  if  you  can, 
depressed  by  the  overwhelming  success  of  my 
Jatest  brain-child.  Picture  me  meeting  Hal  Bent- 
ley  in  a  Forty- fourth  Street  club  and  asking  him 
for  the  location  of  the  lonesomest  spot  on  earth. 
Hal  thought  a  minute.  Tve  got  it',  he  said,  'the 
lonesomest  spot  that's  happened  to  date  is  a  sum 
mer  resort  in  mid-winter.  It  makes  Crusoe's  island 
look  like  Coney  on  a  warm  Sunday  afternoon  in 
comparison.'  The  talk  flowed  on,  along  with  other 
things.  Hal  told  me  his  father  owned  Baldpate 
Inn,  and  that  you  were  an  old  friend  of  his  who 
would  be  happy  for  the  entire  winter  over  the 
chance  to  serve  him.  He  happened  to  have  a  key 
to  the  place — the  key  to  the  big  front  door,  I 
guess,  from  the  weight  of  it — and  he  gave  it  to 
me.  He  also  wrote  you  to  look  after  me.  So 
here  I  am." 

Mr.  Quimby  ran  his  fingers  through  his  white 
hair. 

"Here  I  am,"  repeated  Billy  Magee,  "fleeing 
from  the  great  glitter  known  as  Broadway  to  do  a 


20       SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

little  rational  thinking  in  the  solitudes.  It's  get 
ting  late,  and  I  suggest  that  we  start  for  Baldpate 
Inn  at  once." 

"This  ain't  exactly — regular,"  Mr.  Quimby  pro 
tested.  "No,  it  ain't  what  you  might  call  a  f re- ' 
quent  occurrence.  I'm  glad  to  do  anything  I  can 
for  young  Mr.  Bentley,  but  I  can't  help  wondering 
what  his  father  will  say.  And  there's  a  lot  of 
things  you  haven't  took  into  consideration." 

"There  certainly  is,  young  man,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Quimby,  bustling  forward.  "How  are  you 
going  to  keep  warm  in  that  big  barn  of  a  place?" 

"The  suites  on  the  second  floor,"  said  Mr.  Ma- 
gee,  "are,  I  hear,  equipped  with  fireplaces.  Mr. 
Quimby  will  keep  me  supplied  with  fuel  from  the 
forest  primeval,  for  which  service  he  will  receive 
twenty  dollars  a  week." 

"And  light?"  asked  Mrs.  Quimby. 

"For  the  present,  candles.  I  have  forty  in  that 
package.  Later,  perhaps  you  can  find  me  an  oil 
lamp.  Oh,  everything  will  be  provided  for." 

"Well,"  remarked  Mr.  Quimby,  looking  in  a 
dazed  fashion  at  his  wife,  "I  reckon  I'll  have  to 
talk  it  over  with  ma." 


WEEP   NO   MORE,    MY  LADY      21 

The  two  retired  to  the  next  room,  and  Mr.  Ma- 
gee  fixed  his  eyes  on  a  "God  Bless  Our  Home" 
motto  while  he  awaited  their  return.  Presently 
they  reappeared. 

"Was  you  thinking  of  eating?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Quimby  sarcastically,  "while  you  stayed  up 
there?" 

"I  certainly  was,"  smiled  Mr.  Magee.  "For  the 
most  part  I  will  prepare  my  own  meals  from  cans 
and — er — jars — and  such  pagan  sources.  But 
now  and  then  you,  Mrs.  Quimby,  are  going  to 
send  me  something  cooked  as  no  other  woman  in 
the  county  can  cook  it.  I  can  see  it  in  your  eyes. 
In  my  poor  way  I  shall  try  to  repay  you." 

He  continued  to  smile  into  Mrs.  Quimby's 
broad  cheerful  face.  Mr.  Magee  had  the  type  of 
smile  that  moves  men  to  part  with  ten  until  Satur 
day,  and  women  to  close  their  eyes  and  dream  of 
Sir  Launcelot.  Mrs.  Quimby  could  not  long  re 
sist.  She  smiled  back.  Whereupon  Billy  Magee 
sprang  to  his  feet. 

"It's  all  fixed,"  he  cried.  "We'll  get  on  splen 
didly.  And  now — for  Baldpate  Inn." 

"Not  just  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Quimby.  "I  ain't  one 


22       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

to  let  anybody  go  up  to  Baldpate  Inn  unfed.  I 
'spose  we're  sort  o'  responsible  for  you,  while 
you're  up  here.  You  just  set  right  down  and  I'll 
have  your  supper  hot  and  smoking  on  the  table  in 
no  time." 

Mr.  Magee  -entered  into  no  dispute  on  this  point, 
and  for  half  an  hour  he  was  the  pleased  recipient 
of  advice,  philosophy,  and  food.  When  he  had 
assured  Mrs.  Quimby  that  he  had  eaten  enough  to 
last  him  the  entire  two  months  he  intended  spend 
ing  at  the  inn,  Mr.  Quimby  came  in,  attired  in  a 
huge  "before  the  war"  ulster,  and  carrying  a 
lighted  lantern. 

"So  you're  going  to  sit  up  there  and  write 
things,"  he  commented.  "Well,  I  reckon  you'll 
be  left  to  yourself,  all  right." 

"I  hope  so,"  responded  Mr.  Magee.  "I  want  to 
be  so  lonesome  I'll  sob  myself  to  sleep  every  night. 
It's  the  only  road  to  immortality.  Good-by,  Mrs. 
Quimby.  In  my  fortress  on  the  mountain  I  shall 
expect  an  occasional  culinary  message  from  you." 
He  took  her  plump  hand;  this  motherly  little 
woman  seemed  the  last  link  binding  him  to  the 
world  of  reality. 


WEEP   NO   MORE,    MY  LADY      23 

"Good-by,"  smiled  Mrs.  Quimby.  "Be  careful 
of  matches." 

Mr.  Quimby  led  the  way  with  the  lantern,  and 
presently  they  stepped  out  upon  the  road.  The 
storm  had  ceased,  but  it  was  still  very  dark.  Far 
below,  in  the  valley,  twinkled  the  lights  of  Upper 
Asquewan  Falls. 

"By  the  way,  Quimby,"  remarked  Mr.  Magee, 
"is  there  a  girl  in  your  town  who  has  blue  eyes, 
light  hair,  and  the  general  air  of  a  queen  out 
shopping?" 

"Light  hair,"  repeated  Quimby.  "There's  Sally 
Perry.  She  teaches  in  the  Methodist  Sunday- 
school." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Magee.  "My  description  was 
poor,  I'm  afraid.  This  one  I  refer  to,  when  she 
weeps,  gives  the  general  effect  of  mist  on  the  sea 
at  dawn.  The  Methodists  do  not  monopolize  her." 

"I  read  books,  and  I  read  newspapers,"  said 
Mr.  Quimby,  "but  a  lot  of  your  talk  I  don't  under 
stand." 

"The  critics,"  replied  Billy  Magee,  "could  ex 
plain.  My  stuff  is  only  for  low-brows.  Lead  on, 
Mr.  Quimby." 


24       SEVEN   KEYS  TO   BALDPATE 

Mr.  Quimby  stood  for  a  moment  in  dazed 
silence.  Then  he  turned,  and  the  yellow  of  his 
lantern  fell  on  the  dazzling  snow  ahead.  Together 
the  two  climbed  Baldpate  Mountain. 


CHAPTER  II 

ENTER  A  LOVELORN   HABERDASHER 

BALDPATE  INN  did  not  stand  tiptoe  on  the 
misty  mountain-top.  Instead  it  clung  with 
grim  determination  to  the  side  of  Baldpate,  about 
half-way  up,  much  as  a  city  man  clings  to  the  run 
ning  board  of  an  open  street-car.  This  was  the 
comparison  Mr.  Magee  made,  and  even  as  he 
made  it  he  knew  that  atmospheric  conditions  ren 
dered  it  questionable.  For  an  open  street-car  sug 
gests  summer  and  the  ball  park ;  Baldpate  Inn,  as 
it  shouldered  darkly  into  Mr.  Magee's  ken,  sug 
gested  winter  at  its  most  wintry. 

About  the  great  black  shape  that  was  the  inn, 
like  arms,  stretched  broad  verandas.  Mr.  Magee 
remarked  upon  them  to  his  companion. 

"Those  porches  and  balconies  and  things/'  he 
said,  "will  come  in  handy  in  cooling  the  fevered 
brow  of  genius." 

"There  ain't  much  fever  in  this  locality,"  the 


26       SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

practical  Quimby  assured  him,  "especially  not  in 
winter." 

Silenced,  Mr.  Magee  followed  the  lantern  of 
Quimby  over  the  snow  to  the  broad  steps,  and  up 
to  the  great  front  door.  There  Magee  produced 
from  beneath  his  coat  an  impressive  key.  Mr. 
Quimby  made  as  though  to  assist,  but  was  waved 
aside. 

"This  is  a  ceremony,"  Mr.  Magee  told  him, 
"some  day  Sunday  newspaper  stories  will  be  writ 
ten  about  it.  Baldpate  Inn  opening  its  doors  to 
the  great  American  novel !" 

He  placed  the  key  in  the  lock,  turned  it,  and  the 
door  swung  open.  The  coldest  blast  of  air  Mr. 
Magee  had  even  encountered  swept  out  from  the 
dark  interior.  He  shuddered,  and  wrapped  his 
coat  closer.  He  seemed  to  see  the  white  trail  from 
Dawson  City,  the  sled  dogs  straggling  on  with  the 
dwindling  provisions,  the  fat  Eskimo  guide  beg 
ging  for  gum-drops  by  his  side. 

"Whew,"  he  cried,  "we've  discovered  another 
Pole!" 

"It's  stale  air,"  remarked  Quimby. 

"You  mean  the  Polar  atmosphere,"  replied  Ma- 


A   LOVELORN   HABERDASHER     27 

gee.  "Yes,  it  is  pretty  stale.  Jack  London  and 
Doctor  Cook  have  worked  it  to  death." 

"I  mean/'  said  Quimby,  "this  air  has  been  in 
here  alone  too  long.  It's  as  stale  as  last  week's 
newspaper.  We  couldn't  heat  it  with  a  million 
fires.  We'll  have  to  let  in  some  warm  air  from 
outside  first." 

"Warm  air — humph,"  remarked  Mr.  Magee. 
"Well,  live  and  learn." 

The  two  stood  together  in  a  great  bare  room. 
The  rugs  had  been  removed,  and  such  furniture  as 
remained  had  huddled  together,  as  if  for  warmth, 
in  the  center  of  the  floor.  When  they  stepped  for 
ward,  the  sound  of  their  shoes  on  the  hard  wood 
seemed  the  boom  that  should  wake  the  dead. 

"This  is  the  hotel  office,"  explained  Mr. 
Quimby. 

At  the  left  of  the  door  was  the  clerk's  desk ;  be 
hind  it  loomed  a  great  safe,  and  a  series  of  pigeon 
holes  for  the  mail  of  the  guests.  Opposite  the 
front  door  a  wide  stairway  led  to  a  landing  half 
way  up,  where  the  stairs  were  divorced  and  went 
to  the  right  and  left  in  search  of  the  floor  above. 
Mr.  Magee  surveyed  the  stairway  critically. 


28       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

"A  great  place,"  he  remarked,  "to  show  off  the 
talents  of  your  dressmaker,  eh,  Quimby?  Can't 
you  just  see  the  stunning  gowns  coming  down  that 
stair  in  state,  and  the  young  men  below  here  agi 
tated  in  their  bosoms  ?" 

"No,  I  can't/'  said  Mr.  Quimby  frankly. 

"I  can't  either,  to  tell  the  truth,"  laughed  Billy 
Magee.  He  turned  up  his  collar.  "It's  like  pic 
turing  a  summer  girl  sitting  on  an  iceberg  and 
swinging  her  open-work  hosiery  over  the  edge.  I 
don't  suppose  it's  necessary  to  register.  I'll  go 
right  up  and  select  my  apartments." 

It  was  upon  a  suite  of  rooms  that  bore  the  num 
ber  seven  pn  their  door  that  Mr.  Magee's  choice 
fell.  A  large  parlor  with  a  fireplace  that  a  few 
blazing  logs  would  cheer,  a  bedroom  whose  bed 
was  destitute  of  all  save  mattress  and  springs,  and 
a  bathroom,  comprised  his  kingdom.  Here,  too,  all 
the  furniture  was  piled  in  the  center  of  the  rooms. 
After  Quimby  had  opened  the  windows,  he  began 
straightening  the  furniture  about. 

Mr.  Magee  inspected  his  apartment.  The  win 
dows  were  all  of  the  low  French  variety,  and  op 
ened  out  upon  a  broad  snow-covered  balcony 


A  LOVELORN   HABERDASHER     29 

which  was  in  reality  the  roof  of  the  first  floor 
veranda.  On  this  balcony  Magee  stood  a  mo 
ment,  watching  the  trees  on  Baldpate  wave  their 
black  arms  in  the  wind,  and  the  lights  of  Upper 
Asquewan  Falls  wink  knowingly  up  at  him.  Then! 
he  came  inside,  and  his  investigations  brought  him 
presently  to  the  tub  in  the  bathroom. 

"Fine,"  he  cried,  "a  cold  plunge  in  the  morning 
before  the  daily  struggle  for  immortality  begins." 

He  turned  the  spigot.    Nothing  happened. 

"I  reckon,"  drawled  Mr.  Quimby  from  the  bed 
room,  "you'll  carry  your  cold  plunge  up  from 
the  well  back  of  the  inn  before  you  plunge  into  it. 
The  water's  turned  off.  We  can't  take  chances 
with  busted  pipes." 

"Of  course,"  replied  Magee  less  blithely.  His 
ardor  was  somewhat  dampened — a  paradox — by 
the  failure  of  the  spigot  to  gush  forth  a  response. 
"There's  nothing  I'd  enjoy  more  than  carrying 
eight  pails  of  water  up-stairs  every  morning  to  get 
up  an  appetite  for — what  ?  Oh,  well,  the  Lord  will 
provide.  If  we  propose  to  heat  up  the  great 
American  outdoors,  Quimby,  I  think  it's  time  we 
had  a  fire." 


30       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

Mr.  Quimby  went  out  without  comment,  and 
left  Magee  to  light  his  first  candle  in  the  dark. 
For  a  time  he  occupied  himself  with  lighting  a  few 
of  the  forty,  and  distributing  them  about  the 
room.  Soon  Quimby  came  back  with  kindling 
and  logs,  and  subsequently  a  noisy  fire  roared  in 
the  grate.  Again  Quimby  retired,  and  returned 
with  a  generous  armful  of  bedding,  which  he 
threw  upon  the  brass  bed  in  the  inner  room.  Then 
he  slowly  closed  and  locked  the  windows,  after 
which  he  came  and  looked  down  with  good- 
natured  contempt  at  Mr.  Magee,  who  sat  in  a 
chair  before  the  fire. 

"I  wouldn't  wander  round  none,"  he  advised. 
"You  might  fall  down  something — or  something. 
I  been  living  in  these  parts,  off  and  on,  for  sixty 
years  and  more,  and  nothing  like  this  ever  came 
tinder  my  observation  before.  Howsomever,  I 
guess  it's  all  right  if  Mr.  Bentley  says  so.  I'll 
come  up  in  the  morning  and  see  you  down  to  the 
train." 

"What  train  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Magee. 

"Your  train  back  to  New  York  City,"  replied 


A  LOVELORN   HABERDASHER     31 

Mr.  Quimby.     "Don't  try  to  start  back  in  the 
night.    There  ain't  no  train  till  morning." 

"Ah,  Quimby,"  laughed  Mr.  Magee,  "you  taunt 
me.  You  think  I  won't  stick  it  out.  But  I'll  show 
you.  I  tell  you,  I'm  hungry  for  solitude." 

"That's  all  right,"  Mr.  Quimby  responded,* 
"you  can't  make  three  square  meals  a  day  off  soli 
tude." 

"I'm  desperate,"  said  Magee.  "Henry  Cabot 
Lodge  must  come  to  me,  I  say,  with  tears  in  his 
eyes.  Ever  see  the  senator  that  way?  No?  It 
isn't  going  to  be  an  easy  job.  I  must  put  it  over. 
I  must  go  deep  into  the  hearts  of  men,  up  here, 
and  write  what  I  find.  No  more  shots  in  the  night. 
Just  the  adventure  of  soul  and  soul.  Do  you  see  ? 
By  the  way,  here's  twenty  dollars,  your  first 
week's  pay  as  caretaker  of  a  New  Yprk  Quixote." 

"What's  that?"  asked  Quimby. 

'^Quixote,"  explained  Mr.  Magee,  "was  a  Span- 
ish  lad  who  was  a  little  confused  in  his  mind,  and 
went  about  the  country  putting  up  at  summer  re 
sorts  in  mid-winter." 

"I'd  expect  it  of  a  Spaniard,"  Quimby  said. 
"Be  careful  of  that  fire.  I'll  be  up  in  the  morn- 


32       SEVEN   KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

ing."  He  stowed  away  the  bill  Mr.  Magee  had 
given  him.  "I  guess  nothing  will  interfere  with 
your  lonesomeness.  Leastways,  I  hope  it  won't. 
.Goodnight." 

Mr.  Magee  bade  the  man  good  night,  and  lis 
tened  to  the  thump  of  his  boots,  and  the  closing  of 
the  great  front  door.  From  his  windows  he 
watched  the  caretaker  move  down  the  road  with 
out  looking  back,  to  disappear  at  last  in  the  white 
night. 

Throwing  off  his  great  coat,  Mr.  Magee  noisily 
attacked  the  fire.  The  blaze  flared  red  on  his 
strong  humorous  mouth,  in  his  smiling  eyes. 
Next,  in  the  flickering  half-light  of  suite  seven,  he 
distributed  the  contents  of  his  traveling-bags 
about.  On  the  table  he  placed  a  number  of  new 
magazines  and  a  few  books. 

Then  Mr.  Magee  sat  down  in  the  big  leather 
(Chair  before  the  fire,  and  caught  his  breath.  Here 
fyie  was  at  last.  The  wild  plan  he  and  Hal  Bentley 
had  cooked  up  in  that  Forty-fourth  Street  club 
had  actually  come  to  be.  "Seclusion,"  Magee  had 
cried.  "Bermuda,"  Bentley  had  suggested.  "A 
mixture  of  sea,  hotel  clerks,  and  honeymooners !" 


A  LOVELORN   HABERDASHER     33 

the  seeker  for  solitude  had  sneered.  "Some  win 
ter  place  down  South," — from  Bentley.  "And  a 
flirtation  lurking  in  every  corner !" — from  Magee. 
"A  country  town  where  you  don't  know  any  one." 
"The  easiest  place  in  the  world  to  get  acquainted. 
I  must  be  alone,  man !  Alone !"  "Baldpate  Inn/' 
Bentley  had  cried  in  his  idiom.  "Why,  Billy—* 
Baldpate  Inn  at  Christmas — it  must  be  old  John 
H.  Seclusion  himself." 

Yes,  here  he  was.  And  here  was  the  solitude 
he  had  come  to  find.  Mr.  Magee  looked  nervously 
about,  and  the  smile  died  out  of  his  gray  eyes. 
For  the  first  time  misgivings  smote  him.  Might 
one  not  have  too  much  of  a  good  thing  ?  A  silence 
like  that  of  the  tomb  had  descended.  He  recalled 
stories  of  men  who  went  mad  from  loneliness. 
What  place  lonelier  than  this  ?  The  wind  howled 
along  the  balcony.  It  rattled  the  windows.  Out 
side  his  door  lay  a  great  black  cave — in  summer 
gay  with  men  and  maids — now  like  Crusoe's  is 
land  before  the  old  man  landed. 
* 

"Alone,  alone,  all,  all  alone,"  quoted  Mr.  Ma 
gee.  "If  I  can't  think  here  it  will  be  because  I'm 
not  equipped  with  the  apparatus.  I  will.  I'll  show 


34       SEVEN    KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

the  gloomy  old  critics !  I  wonder  what's  doing  in 
New  York?" 

New  York!  Mr.  Magee  looked  at  his  watch. 
Eight  o'clock.  The  great  street  was  ablaze.  The 
crowds  were  parading  from  the  restaurants  to  the 
theaters.  The  electric  signs  were  pasting  lurid 
legends  on  a  long  suffering  sky;  the  taxis  were 
spraying  throats  with  gasoline;  the  traffic  cop  at 
Broadway  and  Forty-second  Street  was  madly 
earning  his  pay.  Mr.  Magee  got  up  and  walked 
the  floor.  New  York! 

Probably  the  telephone  in  his  rooms  was  jang 
ling,  vainly  calling  forth  to  sport  with  Amaryllis 
in  the  shade  of  the  rubber  trees  Billy  Magee — 
Billy  Magee  who  sat  alone  in  the  silence  on  Bald- 
pate  Mountain.  Few  knew  of  his  departure.  This 
was  the  night  of  that  stupid  attempt  at  theatricals 
at  the  Plaza ;  stupid  in  itself  but  gay,  almost  giddy, 
since  Helen  Faulkner  was  to  be  there.  This  was 
the  night  of  the  dinner  to  Carey  at  the  club.  This 
was  the  night — of  many  diverting  things. 

Mr.  Magee  picked  up  a  magazine.  He  won 
dered  how  they  read,  in  the  old  days,  by  candle 
light.  He  wondered  if  they  would  have  found  his 


A   LOVELORN    HABERDASHER     35 

*wn  stories  worth  the  strain  on  the  eyes.  And  he 
also  wondered  if  absolute  solitude  was  quite  the 
thing  necessary  to  the  composition  of  the  novel 
that  should  forever  silence  those  who  sneered  at 
his  ability. 

Absolute  solitude !  Only  the  crackle  of  the  fire, 
the  roar  of  the  wind,  and  the  ticking  of  his  watch 
bore  him  company.  He  strode  to  the  window  and 
looked  down  at  the  few  dim  lights  that  proclaimed 
the  existence  of  Upper  Asquewan  Falls.  Some 
where,  down  there,  was  the  Commercial  House. 
Somewhere  the  girl  who  had  wept  so  bitterly  in 
that  gloomy  little  waiting-room.  She  was  only 
three  miles  away,  and  the  thought  cheered  Mr. 
Magee.  After  all,  he  was  not  on  a  desert  island. 

And  yet — he  was  alone,  intensely,  almost  pain 
fully,  alone.  Alone  in  a  vast  moaning  house  that 
must  be  his  only  home  until  he  could  go  back  to 
the  gay  city  with  his  masterpiece.  What  a  mas 
terpiece!  As  though  with  a  surgeon's  knife  it 
would  lay  bare  the  hearts  of  men.  No  tricks  of 
plot,  no — 

Mr.  Magee  paused.  For  sharply  in  the  silence 
the  bell  of  his  room  telephone  rang  out. 


36       SEVEN    KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

He  stood  for  a  moment  gazing  in  wonder,  his 
heart  beating  swiftly,  his  eyes  upon  the  instru 
ment  on  the  wall.  It  was  a  house  phone ;  he  knew 
that  it  could  only  be  rung  from  the  switchboard 
in  the  hall  below.  "I'm  going  mad  already/'  he 
remarked,  and  took  down  the  receiver. 

A  blur  of  talk,  an  electric  muttering,  a  click, 
and  all  was  still. 

Mr.  Magee  opened  the  door  and  stepped  out 
into  the  shadows.  He  heard  a  voice  below. 
Noiselessly  he  crept  to  the  landing,  and  gazed 
down  into  the  office.  A  young  man  sat  at  the  tele 
phone  switchboard;  Mr.  Magee  could  see  in  the 
dim  light  of  a  solitary  candle  that  he  was  a  person 
of  rather  hilarious  raiment.  The  candle  stood  on 
the  top  of  the  safe,  and  the  door  of  the  latter 
swung  open.  Sinking  down  on  the  steps  in  the 
dark,  Mr.  Magee  waited. 

"Hello,"  the  young  man  was  saying,  "how  do 
you  work  this  thing,  anyhow?  I've  tried  every 
peg  but  the  right  one.  Hello — hello !  I  want  long 
distance — Reuton.  2876  West — Mr.  Andy  Rut- 
ter.  Will  you  get  him  for  me,  sister?" 


A   LOVELORN   HABERDASHER     37 

Another  wait — a  long  one — ensued.  The  can 
dle  sputtered.  The  young  man  fidgeted  in  his 
chair.  At  last  he  spoke  again : 

"Hello!  Andy?  Is  that  you,  Andy?  What's 
the  good  word?  As  quiet  as  the  tomb  of  Napo 
leon.  Shall  I  close  up  shop  ?  Sure.  What  next? 
Oh,  see  here,  Andy,  I'd  die  up  here.  Did  you  ever 
hit  a  place  like  this  in  winter?  I  can't — I — oh, 
well,  if  he  says  so.  Yes.  I  could  do  that.  But 
no  longer.  I  couldn't  stand  it  long.  Tell  him  that. 
Tell  him  everything's  O.  K.  Yes.  All  right. 
Well,  good  night,  Andy." 

He  turned  away  from  the  switchboard,  and  as 
he  did  so  Mr.  Magee  walked  calmly  down  the 
stairs  toward  him.  With  a  cry  the  young  man 
ran  to  the  safe,  threw  a  package  inside,  and  swung 
shut  the  door.  He  turned  the  knob  of  the  safe 
several  times ;  then  he  faced  Mr.  Magee.  The  lat 
ter  saw  something  glitter  in  his  hand. 

"Good  evening,"  remarked  Mr.  Magee  pleas 
antly. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  cried  the  youth 
wildly. 

"I  live  here,"  Mr.  Magee  assured  him.    "Won't 


38       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

you  come  up  to  my  room — it's  right  at  the  head 
of  the  stairs.    I  have  a  fire,  you  know." 

Back  into  the  young  man's  lean  hawk-like  face 
crept  the  assurance  that  belonged  with  the  gay  at 
tire  he  wore.  He  dropped  the  revolver  into  his 
pocket,  and  smiled  a  sneering  smile. 

"Ypu  gave  me  a  turn,"  he  said.  "Of  course  you 
live  here.  Are  any  of  the  other  guests  about? 
And  who  won  the  tennis  match  to-day  ?" 

"You  are  facetious."  Mr.  Magee  smiled  too. 
"So  much  the  better.  A  lively  companion  is  the 
very  sort  I  should  have  ordered  to-night.  Come 
up-stairs." 

The  young  man  looked  suspiciously  about,  his 
thin  nose  seemingly  scenting  plots.  He  nodded, 
and  picked  up  the  candle.  "All  right,"  he  said. 
"But  I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  go  first.  You  know 
the  way."  His  right  hand  sought  the  pocket  into 
which  the  revolver  had  fallen.  / 

"You  honor  my  poor  and  drafty  house,"  said' 
(Mr.  Magee.  "This  way." 

He  mounted  the  stairs.  After  him  followed  the 
youth  of  flashy  habiliments,  looking  fearfully 
about  him  as  he  went.  He  seemed  surprised  that 


A   LOVELORN    HABERDASHER     39 

they  came  to  Magee's  room  without  incident.  In 
side,  Mr.  Magee  drew  up  an  easy  chair  before  the 
jfire,  and  offered  his  guest  a  cigar. 

"You  must  be  cold,"  he  said.  "Sit  here.  'A 
bad  night,  stranger'  as  they  remark  in  stories." 

"You've  said  it,"  replied  the  young  man,  accept 
ing  the  cigar.  "Thanks."  He  walked  to  the  door 
leading  into  the  hall  and  opened  it  about  a  foot. 
"I'm  afraid,"  he  explained  jocosely,  "we'll  get  to 
talking,  and  miss  the  breakfast  bell."  He  dropped 
into  the  chair,  and  lighted  his  cigar  at  a  candle 
end.  "Say,  you  never  can  tell,  can  you?  Climb 
ing  up  old  Baldpate  I  thought  to  myself,  that  hotel 
certainly  makes  the  Sahara  Desert  look  like  a  cozy 
corner.  And  here  you  are,  as  snug  and  comfort 
able  and  at  home  as  if  you  were  in  a  Harlem  flat. 
You  never  can  tell.  And  what  now  ?  The  story 
of  my  life?" 

"You  might  relate,"  Mr.  Magee  told  him,  "that 
portion  of  it  that  has  led  you  trespassing  on  a  gen 
tleman  seeking  seclusion  at  Baldpate  Inn." 

The  stranger  looked  at  Mr.  Magee.  He  had  an 
eye  that  not  only  looked,  but  weighed,  estimated, 
anc^  classified.  Mr.  Magee  met  it  smilingly. 


4b       SEVEN    KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

"Trespassing,  eh  ?"  said  the  young  man.  "Far 
be  it  from  me  to  quarrel  with  a  man  who  smokes 
as  good  cigars  as  you  do — but  there's  something 
I  haven't  quite  doped  out.  That  is — who's  tres 
passing,  me  or  you  ?" 

"My  right  here,"  said  Mr.  Magee,  "is  indispu 
table." 

"It's  a  big  word,"  replied  the  other,  "but  you 
can  tack  it  to  my  right  here,  and  tell  no  lie.  We 
can't  dispute,  so  let's  drop  the  matter.  With  that 
settled,  I'm  encouraged  to  pour  out  the  story  of 
why  you  see  me  here  to-night,  far  from  the  mad 
ding  crowd.  Have  you  a  stray  tear?  You'll 
need  it.  It's  a  sad  touching  story,  concerned  with 
haberdashery  and  a  trusting  heart,  and  a  fair 
woman — fair,  but,  oh,  how  false!" 

"Proceed,"  laughed  Mr.  Magee.  "I'm  an  ad 
mirer  of  the  vivid  imagination.  Don't  curb  yours, 
I  beg  of  you." 

"It's  all  straight,"  said  the  other  in  a  hurt  tone. 
"Every  word  true.  My  name  is  Joseph  Bland. 
My  profession,  until  love  entered  my  life,  was  that 
of  haberdasher  and  outfitter.  In  the  city  of  Reu- 
ton,  fifty  miles  from  here,  I  taught  the  Beau 


A   LOVELORN    HABERDASHER     41 

Brummels  of  the  thoroughfares  what  was  doing  in 
London  in  the  necktie  line.  I  sold  them  coats  with 
padded  shoulders,  and  collars  high  and  awe  inspir 
ing.  I  was  happy,  twisting  a  piece  of  silk  over  myj 
hand  to  show  them  how  it  would  look  on  their 
heaving  bosoms.  And  then — she  came/' 

Mr.  Bland  puffed  on  his  cigar. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "Arabella  sparkled  on  the  hori 
zon  of  my  life.  When  I  have  been  here  in  the  quiet 
for  about  two  centuries,  maybe  I  can  do  justice  to 
her  beauty.  I  won't  attempt  to  describe  her  now. 
I  loved  her — madly.  She  said  I  made  a  hit  with 
her.  I  spent  on  her  the  profits  of  my  haberdash 
ery.  I  whispered — marriage.  She  didn't  scream. 
I  had  my  wedding  necktie  picked  out  from  the 
samples  of  a  drummer  from  Troy."  He  paused 
and  looked  at  Mr.  Magee.  "Have  you  ever  stood, 
poised,  on  that  brink?"  he  asked. 

"Never,"  replied  Magee.  "But  go  on.  Your 
story  attracts  me,  strangely." 

"From  here  on — the  tear  I  spoke  of,  please. 
There  flashed  on  the  scene  a  man  she  had  known 
and  loved  in  Jersey  City.  I  said  flashed.  He  did 
— just  that.  A  swell  dresser — say,  he  had  John 


42       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

Drew  beat  by  two  mauve  neckties  and  a  purple 
frock  coat.  I  had  a  haberdashery  back  of  me. 
No  use.  He  put-dressed  me.  I  saw  that  Arabel 
la's  love  for  me  was  waning.  With  his  chamois- 
gloved  hands  that  new  guy  fanned  the  ancient 
flame." 

He  paused.  Emotion — or  the  smoke  of  the 
cigar — choked  him. 

"Let's  make  the  short  story  shorter/'  he  said. 
"She  threw  me  down.  In  my  haberdashery  I 
thought  it  over.  I  was  blue,  bitter.  I  resolved 
on  a  dreadful  step.  In  the  night  I  wrote  her  a 
letter,  and  carried  it  down  to  the  box  and  posted 
it.  Life  without  Arabella,  said  the  letter,  was 
Shakespeare  with  Hamlet  left  out.  It  hinted  at 
the  river,  carbolic  acid,  revolvers.  Yes,  I  posted 
it.  And  then — " 

"And  then,"  urged  Mr.  Magee. 

Mr.  Bland  felt  tenderly  of  the  horseshoe  pin  in 
his  purple  tie. 

"This  is  just  between  us,"  he  said.  "At  that 
point  the  trouble  began.  It  came  from  my  being 
naturally  a  very  brave  man.  I  could  have  died — 
easy.  The  brave  thing  was  to  live.  To  go  on,  day 


A   LOVELORN   HABERDASHER     43 

after  day,  devoid  of  Arabella — say,  that  took 
courage.  I  wanted  to  try  it.  I'm  a  courageous 
man,  as  I  say." 

"You  seem  so,"  Mr.  Magee  agreed. 

"Lion-hearted,"  assented  Mr.  Bland.  "I  deter 
mined  to  show  my  nerve,  and  live.  But  there  was 
my  letter  to  Arabella.  I  feared  she  wouldn't  ap 
preciate  my  bravery — women  are  dull  sometimes. 
It  came  to  me  maybe  she  would  be  hurt  if  I  didn't 
keep  my  word,  and  die.  So  I  had  to— disappear. 
I  had  a  friend  mixed  up  in  affairs  at  Baldpate, 
No,  I  can't  give  his  name.  I  told  him  my  story. 
He  was  impressed  by  my  spirit,  as  you  have  been. 
He  gave  me  a  key  he  had — the  key  of  the  door 
opening  from  the  east  veranda  into  the  dining- 
room.  So  I  came  up  here.  I  came  here  to  be 
alone,  to  forgive  and  forget,  to  be  forgot.  And 
maybe  to  plan  a  new  haberdashery  in  distant 
parts." 

"Was  it  your  wedding  necktie,"  asked  Mr.  Ma-! 
gee,  "that  you  threw  into  the  safe  when  you  saw 
me  coming?" 

"No,"  replied  Mr.  Bland,  sighing  deeply.  "A 
package  of  letters,  written  to  me  by  Arabella  at 


44       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

various  times.  I  want  to  forget  'em.  If  I  kept 
them  on  hand,  I  might  look  at  them  from  time  to 
time.  My  great  courage  might  give  way — you 
might  find  my  body  on  the  stairs.  That's  why  I 
hid  them/' 

Mr.  Magee  laughed,  and  stretched  forth  his 
hand. 

"Believe  me/'  he  said,  "your  touching  confi 
dence  in  me  will  not  be  betrayed.  I  congratulate 
you  on  your  narrative  power.  You  want  my 
story.  Why  am  I  here  ?  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is 
worthy  to  follow  yours.  But  it  has  its  good 
points — as  I  have  thought  it  out." 

He  went  over  to  the  table,  and  picked  up  a  pop 
ular  novel  upon  which  his  gaze  had  rested  while 
the  haberdasher  spun  his  fabric  of  love  and  gloom. 
On  the  cover  was  a  picture  of  a  very  dashing 
maiden. 

"Do  you  see  that  girl?"  he  asked.  "She  is 
'beautiful,  is  she  not  ?  Even  Arabella,  in  her  most 
splendid  moments,  could  get  a  few  points  from 
her,  I  fancy.  Perhaps  you  are  not  familiar  with 
the  important  part  such  a  picture  plays  in  the  suc 
cess  of  a  novel  to-day.  The  truth  is,  however, 


A   LOVELORN   HABERDASHER     45 

that  the  noble  art  of  fiction  writing  has  come  to 
lean  more  and  more  heavily  on  its  illustrators. 
The  mere  words  that  go  with  the  pictures  grow 
less  important  every  day.  There  are  dozens  of; 
distinguished  novelists  in  the  country  at  this  mo 
ment  who  might  be  haberdashers  if  it  weren't  for 
the  long,  lean,  haughty  ladies  who  are  scattered 
tastefully  through  their  works." 

Mr.  Bland  stirred  uneasily. 

"I  can  see  you  are  at  a  loss  to  know  what  my 
search  for  seclusion  and  privacy  has  to  do  with 
all  this,"  continued  Mr.  Magee.  "I  am  an  artist. 
For  years  I  have  drawn  these  lovely  ladies  who 
make  fiction  salable  to  the  masses.  Many  a  nov 
elist  owes  his  motor-car  and  his  country  house  to 
my  brush.  Two  months  ago,  I  determined  to  give 
up  illustration  forever,  and  devote  my  time  to 
painting.  I  turned  my  back  on  the  novelists.  Can 
you  imagine  what  happened?" 

"My  imagination's  a  little  tired,"  apologized 
Mr.  Bland. 

"Never  mind.  I'll  tell  ypu.  The  leading  au 
thors  whose  work  I  had  so  long  illustrated  saw 
ruin  staring  them  in  the  face.  They  came  to  me, 


46       SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

on  their  knees,  figuratively.  They  begged.  They 
pleaded.  They  hid  in  the  vestibule  of  my  flat  I 
should  say,  my  studio.  They  even  came  up  in  my 
dumb-waiter,  having  bribed  the  janitor.  They 
wouldn't  take  no  for  an  answer.  In  order  to  es 
cape  them  and  their  really  pitiful  pleadings,  I  had 
to  flee.  I  happened  to  have  a  friend  involved  in 
the  management  of  Baldpate  Inn.  I  am  not  at 
liberty  to  give  his  name.  He  gave  me  a  key.  So 
here  I  am.  I  rely  on  you  to  keep  my  secret  If 
you  perceive  a  novelist  in  the  distance,  lose  no 
time  in  warning  me." 

Mr.  Magee  paused,  chuckling  inwardly.  He 
stood  looking  down  at  the  lovelorn  haberdasher. 
The  latter  got  to  his  feet,  and  solemnly  took  Ma- 
gee's  hand. 

"I — I — oh,  well,  you've  got  me  beat  a  mile,  old 
man,"  he  said. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say — "  began  the  hurt  Ma- 
gee. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right/'  Mr.  Bland  assured  him. 
"I  believe  every  word  of  it  It's  all  as  real  as  the 
haberdashery  to  me.  I'll  keep  my  eye  peeled  for 
novelists.  What  gets  me  is,  when  you  boil  our 


A   LOVELORN    HABERDASHER     47 

two  fly-by-night  stories  down,  I've  come  here  to 
be  alone.  You  want  to  be  alone.  We  can't  be 
alone  here  together.  One  of  us  must  clear  out." 

"Nonsense/'  answered  Billy  Magee.  "I'll  be 
glad  to  have  you  here.  Stay  as  long  as  you  like." 

The  haberdasher  looked  Mr.  Magee  fully  in  the 
eye,  and  the  latter  was  startled  by  the  hostility  he 
saw  in  the  other's  face. 

"The  point  is/'  said  Mr.  Bland,  "I  don't  want 
you  here.  Why  ?  Maybe  because  you  recall  beau 
tiful  dames — on  book  covers — and  in  that  way, 
Arabella.  Maybe — but  what's  the  use?  I  put  it 
simply.  I  got  to  be  alone — alone  on  Baldpate 
Mountain.  I  won't  put  you  out  to-night — " 

"See  here,  my  friend/'  cried  Mr.  Magee,  ".your 
grief  has  turned  your  head.  You  won't  put  me 
out  to-night,  or  to-morrow.  I'm  here  to  stay. 
You're  welcome  to  do  the  same,  if  you  like.  But 
you  stay — with  me.  I  know  you  are  a  man  of 
courage — but  it  would  take  at  least  ten  men  of 
courage  to  put  me  out  of  Baldpate  Inn." 

They  stood  eying  each  other  for  a  moment. 
Bland's  thin  lips  twisted  into  a  sneer.  "We'll 
see,"  he  said.  "We'll  settle  all  that  in  the  morn-. 


48       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

ing."  His  tone  took  on  a  more  friendly  aspect 
"I'm  going  to  pick  out  a  downy  couch  in  one  of 
these  rooms,"  he  said,  "and  lay  me  down  to  sleep. 
Say,  I  could  greet  a  blanket  like  a  long-lost 
friend." 

'  Mr.  Magee  proffered  some  of  the  covers  that 
Quimby  had  given  him,  and  accompanied  Mr. 
Bland  to  suite  ten,  across  the  hall.  He  explained 
the  matter  of  "stale  air",  and  assisted  in  the  open 
ing  of  windows.  The  conversation  was  mostly 
facetious,  and  Mr.  Eland's  last  remark  concerned 
the  fickleness  of  woman.  With  a  brisk  good  night, 
Mr.  Magee  returned  to  number  seven. 

But  he  made  no  move  toward  the  chilly  brass 
bed  in  the  inner  room.  Instead  he  sat  a  long  time 
by  the  fire.  He  reflected  on  the  events  of  his  first 
few  hours  in  that  supposedly  uninhabited  solitude 
where  he  was  to  be  alone  with  his  thoughts.  He 
pondered  the  way  and  manner  of  the  flippant 
young  man  who  posed  as  a  lovelorn  haber 
dasher,  and  under  whose  flippancy  there  was  cer 
tainly  an  air  of  hostility.  Who  was  Andy  Rutter, 
down  in  Reuton  ?  What  did  the  young  man  mean 
when  he  asked  if  he  should  "close  up  shop"? 


A   LOVELORN    HABERDASHER     49 

Who  was  the  "he"  from  whom  came  the  orders  ? 
and  most  important  of  all,  what  was  in  the  pack 
age  now  resting  in  the  great  safe  ? 

Mr.  Magee  smiled.  Was  this  the  stuff  of  which 
'solitude  was  made  ?  He  recalled  the  ludicrous  lit 
erary  tale  he  had  invented  to  balance  the  moving 
fiction  of  Arabella,  and  his  smile  grew  broader. 
His  imagination,  at  least,  was  in  a  healthy  state. 
He  looked  at  his  watch.  A  quarter  of  twelve* 
Probably  they  were  having  supper  at  the  Plaza 
now,  and  Helen  Faulkner  was  listening  to  the 
banalities  of  young  Williams.  He  settled  in  his 
seat  to  think  of  Miss  Faulkner.  He  thought  of 
her  for  ten  seconds ;  then  stepped  to  the  window. 

The  moon  had  risen,  and  the  snowy  roofs  of 
Upper  Asquewan  Falls  sparkled  in  the  lime-light 
of  the  heavens.  Under  one  of  those  roofs  was  the 
girl  of  the  station — weeping  no  more,  he  hoped. 
Certainly  she  had  eyes  that  held  even  the  least  sus 
ceptible — to  which  class  Mr.  Magee  prided  him 
self  he  belonged.  He  wished  he  might  see  her 
again;  might  talk  to  her  without  interruption 
from  that  impossible  "mamma." 

Mr.  Magee  turned  back  into  the  room.     His 


So       SEVEN    KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

fire  was  but  red  glowing  ashes.  He  threw  off  his 
dressing-gown,  and  began  to  unlace  his  shoes. 

"There  has  been  too  much  crude  melodrama  in 
my  novels,"  he  reflected.  "It's  so  easy  to  write.1 
But  I'm  going  to  get  away  from  all  that  up  here. 
I'm  going — " 

Mr.  Magee  paused,  with  one  shoe  poised  in  his 
hand.  For  from  below  came  the  sharp  crack  of  a 
pistol,  followed  by  the  crash  of  breaking  glass. 


CHAPTER  III 

BLONDES  AND  SUFFRAGETTES 

MR.  MAGEE  slipped  into  his  dressing- 
gown,  seized  a  candle,  and  like  the  boy 
in  the  nursery  rhyme  with  one  shoe  off  and  pne 
shoe  on,  ran  into  the  hall.  All  was  silent  ancj  dark 
below.  He  descended  to  the  landing,  and  stood 
there,  holding  the  candle  high  above  his  head.  It 
threw  a  dim  light  as  far  as  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs,  but  quickly  lost  the  battle  with  the  shadows 
that  lay  beyond. 

"Hello,"  the  voice  of  Bland,  the  haberdasher, 
came  out  of  the  blackness.  "The  Goddess  of  Lib 
erty,  as  I  live !  What's  your  next  imitation  ?" 

"There  seems  to  be  something  doing,"  said  Mr.1 
Magee. 

Mr.  Bland  came  into  the  light,  partially  dis 
robed,  his  revolver  in  his  hand. 

"Somebody  trying  to  get  in  by  the  front  door,"  ( 

51 


52       SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

he  explained.  "I  shot  at  him  to  scare  him  away. 
'Probably  one  of  your  novelists." 

"Or  Arabella,"  remarked  Mr.  Magee,  coming 
down. 

"No,"  answered  Bland.  "I  distinctly  saw  a 
derby  hat." 

With  Mr.  Magee  descended  the  yellow  candle 
light,  and  brushing  aside  the  shadows  of  the  hotel 
office,  it  revealed  a  mattress  lying  on  the  floor 
close  to  the  clerk's  desk,  behind  which  stood  the 
safe.  On  the  mattress  was  the  bedding  Magee 
had  presented  to  the  haberdasher,  hastily  thrown 
back  by  the  lovelorn  one  on  rising. 

"You  prefer  tp  sleep  down  here,"  Mr.  Magee 
commented. 

"Near  the  letters  of  Arabella — yes,"  replied 
Bland.  His  keen  eyes  met  Magee's.  There  was 
:a  challenge  in  them. 

Mr.  Magee  turned,  and  the  yellow  light  of  the 
candle  flickered  wanly  over  the  great  front  door. 
Even  as  he  looked  at  it,  the  door  was  pushed  open, 
and  a  queer  figure  of  a  man  stood  framed  against 
a  background  pf  glittering  snow.  Mr.  Bland's 
arm  flew  up. 


BLONDES    AND    SUFFRAGETTES     53 

"Don't  shoot,"  cried  Magee. 

"No,  please  don't,"  urged  the  man  in  the  door 
way.  A  beard,  a  pair  of  round  owlish  spectacles, 
and  two  ridiculous  ear-muffs,  left  only  a  sugges 
tion  of  face  here  and  there.  He  closed  the  door 
and  stepped  into  the  room.  "I  have  every  right 
here,  I  assure  you,  even  though  my  arrival  is 
somewhat  unconventional.  See — 1  have  the  key." 
He  held  up  a  large  brass  key  that  was  the  coun 
terpart  of  the  one  Hal  Bentley  had  bestowed  upon 
Mr.  Magee  in  that  club  on  far-off  Forty- fourth 
Street. 

"Keys  to  burn,"  muttered  Mr.  Bland  sourly. 

"I  bear  no  ill  will  with  regard  to  the  shooting," 
went  on  the  newcomer.  He  took  off  his  derby  hat 
and  ruefully  regarded  a  hole  through  the  crown. 
His  bald  head  seemed  singularly  frank  and  naked 
above  a  face  of  so  many  disguises.  "It  is  only  nat 
ural  that  men  alone  on  a  mountain  should  defend 
themselves  from  invaders  at  two  in  the  morning 
My  escape  was  narrow,  but  there  is  no  ill  will." 

He  blinked  about  him,  his  breath  a  white  cloud 
in  the  cold  room. 

"Life,  young  gentlemen,"  he  remarked,  setting 


54       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

down  his  bag  and  leaning  a  green  umbrella  against 
it,  "has  its  surprises  even  at  sixty-two.  Last  night 
I  was  ensconced  by  my  own  library  fire,  preparing 
a  paper  on  the  Pagan  Renaissance.  To-night  I 
am  on  Baldpate  Mountain,  with  a  perforation  m 
my  hat." 

Mr.  Bland  shivered.  "I'm  going  back  to  bed/' 
he  said  in  disgust. 

"First,"  went  on  the  gentleman  with  the  per 
forated  derby,  "permit  me  to  introduce  myself.  I 
am  Professor  Thaddeus  Bolton,  and  I  hold  the 
Chair  of  Comparative  Literature  in  a  big  eastern 
university." 

Mr.  Magee  took  the  mittened  hand  of  the  pro 
fessor. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  I'm  sure,"  he  said.  "My 
name  is  Magee.  This  is  Mr.  Bland — he  is  impet 
uous  but  estimable.  I  trust  you  will  forgive  his 
first  salute.  What's  a  bullet  among  gentlemen? 
It  seems  to  me  that  as  explanations  may  be 
lengthy  and  this  room  is  very  cold,  we  would  do 
well  to  go  up  to  my  room,  where  there  is  a  fire." 

"Delighted,"  cried  the  old  man.     "A  fire,    I 


BLONDES    AND    SUFFRAGETTES     55 
long  to  see  one.    Let  us  go  to  your  room,  by  all 


means." 


Mr.  Bland  sulkily  stalked  to  his  matteess  and 
secured  a  gaily  colored  bed  quilt,  which  he  wound 
about  his  thin  form. 

"This  is  positively  the  last  experience  meeting 
I  attend  to-night,"  he  growled. 

They  ascended  to  number  seven.  Mr.  Magee 
piled  fresh  logs  on  the  fire;  Mr.  Bland  saw  to  it 
that  the  door  was  not  tightly  closed.  The  pro 
fessor  removed,  along  with  other  impedimenta, 
his  ear  tabs,  which  were  connected  by  a  rubber 
cord.  He  waved  them  like  frisky  detached  ears 
before  him. 

"An  old  man's  weakness,"  he  remarked.  "Fool 
ish,  they  may  seem  to  you.  But  I  assure  you  I 
found  them  useful  companions  in  climbing  Bald- 
pate  Mountain  at  this  hour." 

He  sat  down  in  the  largest  chair  suite  seven 
owned,  and  from  its  depths  smiled  benignly  at  the 
two  young  men. 

"But  I  am  not  here  to  apologize  for  my  apparel, 
am  I?  Hardly.  You  are  saying  to  yourselves 


56       SEVEN    KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

'Why  is  he  here  ?'  Yes,  that  is  the  question  that 
disturbs  you.  What  has  brought  this  domesti 
cated  college  professor  scampering  from  the  Pa 
gan  Renaissance  to  Baldpate  Inn  ?  For  answer,  I 
must  ask  you  to  go  back  with  me  a  week's  time, 
and  gaze  at  a  picture  from  the  rather  dreary  aca 
demic  kaleidoscope  that  is  my  life. 

"I  am  seated  back  of  a  desk  on  a  platform  in  a 
bare  yellow  room.  In  front  of  me,  tier  on  tier, 
sit  a  hundred  young  men  in  various  attitudes  0f 
inattention.  I  am  trying  to  tell  them  something 
of  the  ideal  poetry  that  marked  the  rebirth  of  the 
Saxon  genius.  They  are  bored.  I — well,  gentle 
men,  in  confidence,  even  the  mind  of  a  college  pro 
fessor  has  been  known  to  wander  at  times  from 
the  subject  in  hand.  And  then — I  begin  to  read  a 
poem — a  poem  descriptive  pf  a  woman  dead  six 
hundred  years  and  more.  Ah,  gentlemen — " 

He  sat  erect  on  the  edge  of  his  great  chair. 
Back  of  the  thick  lenses  of  his  spectacles  he  had 
eyes  that  still  could  flash. 

'This  is  not  an  era  of  romance,"  he  said.  "Our 
people  grub  in  the  dirt  for  the  dollar.  Their  vis 
ions  perish.  Their  souls  grow  stale.  Yet,  now 


BLONDES    AND    SUFFRAGETTES     57 

and  then,  at  most  inopportune  times,  comes  the 
flash  that  reveals  to  us  the  glories  that  might  be. 
A  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance  caught  a  glimpse 
of  perfect  happiness  while  he  was  in  the  midst  of 
an  effort  to  corner  the  pickle  market.  Another 
evolved  the  scheme  of  a  perfect  ode  to  the  essen 
tial  purity  of  woman  in — a  Broadway  restaurant. 
So,  like  lightning  across  the  blackest  sky,  our 
poetic  moments  come." 

Mr.  Bland  wrapped  his  gay  quilt  more  securely 
about  him.  Mr.  Magee  smiled  encouragement  on 
the  newest  raconteur. 

"I  shall  be  brief/'  continued  Professor  Bolton. 
"Heaven  knows  that  pedagogic  room  was  no  place 
for  visions,  nor  were  those  athletic  young  men  fit 
companions  for  a  soul  gone  giddy.  Yet — I  lost 
my  head.  As  I  read  on  there  returned  to  my  heart 
a  glow  I  had  not  known  in  forty  years.  The  bard 
spoke  of  her  hair : 

"  'Her  yellow  lockes,  crisped  like  golden  wyre, 
About  her  shoulders  weren  loosely  shed' 

and  I  saw,  as  in  a  dream — ahem,  I  can  trust  you, 
gentlemen — a  girl  I  supposed  I  had  forever  forgot 


58       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

in  the  mold  and  dust  of  my  later  years.  I  will  not 
go  further  into  the  matter.  My  wife's  hair  is 
J)lack. 

,  "And  reading  on,  but  losing  the  thread  of  the 
poet's  eulogy  in  the  golden  fabric  of  my  resur 
rected  dream,  it  came  to  me  to  compare  that  maid 
I  knew  in  the  long  ago  with  the  women  I  know 
to-day.  Ah,  gentlemen !  Lips,  made  but  for  smil 
ing,  fling  weighty  arguments  on  the  unoffending 
atmosphere.  Eyes,  made  to  light  with  that  light 
that  never  was  by  land  or  sea,  blaze  instead  with 
what  they  call  the  injustice  of  woman's  servitude. 
White  hands,  made  to  find  their  way  to  the  hands 
of  some  young  man  in  the  moonlight,  carry  ban 
ners  in  the  dusty  streets.  It  seemed  I  saw  the  blue 
eyes  of  that  girl  of  long  ago  turned,  sad,  rebuking, 
on  her  sisters  of  to-day.  As  I  finished  reading, 
my  heart  was  awhirl.  I  said  to  the  young  men 
before  me: 

"  There  was  a  woman,  gentlemen — a  woman 
worth  a  million  suffragettes.' 

"They  applauded.  The  fire  in  me  died  down. 
Soon  I  was  my  old  meek,  academic  self.  The 
vision  had  left  no  trace.  I  dismissed  my  class  and 


BLONDES    AND    SUFFRAGETTES     59 

went  home.  I  found  that  my  wife — she  of  the 
black  hair — had  left  my  slippers  by  the  library 
fire.  I  put  them  on,  and  plunged  into  a  pamphlet 
lately  published  by  a  distinguished  member  of  a 
German  university  faculty.  I  thought  the  inci 
dent  closed  forever." 

He  gazed  sorrowfully  at  the  two  young  men. 

"But,  gentlemen,  I  had  not  counted  on  that  vi 
per  that  we  nourish  in  our  bosom — the  American 
newspaper.  At  present  I  will  not  take  time  to  de 
nounce  the  press.  I  am  preparing  an  article  on  the 
subject  for  a  respectable  weekly  of  select  circula 
tion.  Suffice  it  to  record  what  happened.  The 
next  day  an  evening  paper  appeared  with  a  huge 
picture  of  me  on  its  front  page,  and  the  hideous 
statement  that  this  was  the  Professor  Bolton  who 
had  said  that  'One  Peroxide  Blonde  Is  Worth  a 
Million  Suffragettes'. 

"Yes,  that  was  the  dreadful  version  of  my  re 
mark  that  was  spread  broadcast.  Up  to  the  time 
that  story  appeared,  I  had  no  idea  as  to  what  sort 
of  creature  the  peroxide  blonde  might  be.  I  pro 
tested,  of  course.  I  might  as  well  have  tried  to 
dam  a  tidal  wave  with  a  table  fork.  The  wrath 


60       SEVEN    KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

of  the  world  swept  down  upon  me.  I  was  deluged 
with  telegrams,  editorials,  letters,  denouncing  me. 
Firm- faced  females  lay  in  wait  for  me  and  waved 
umbrellas  in  my  eyes.  Even  my  wife  turned  from 
me,  saying  that  while  she  did  not  ask  me  to  hold 
her  views  on  the  question  of  suffrage,  she  thought 
I  might  at  least  refrain  from  publicly  commend 
ing  a  type  of  woman  found  chiefly  in  musical 
comedy  choruses.  I  received  a  note  from  the 
president  of  the  university,  asking  me  to  be  more 
circumspect  in  my  remarks.  Me — Thadeus  Bol- 
ton — the  most  conservative  man  on  earth  by  in 
stinct  ! 

"And  still  the  denunciations  of  me  poured  in; 
still  women's  clubs  held  meetings  resolving  against 
me;  still  a  steady  stream  of  reporters  flowed 
through  my  life,  urging  me  to  state  my  views  fur 
ther,  to  name  the  ten  greatest  blondes  in  history, 
to — heaven  knows  what.  Yesterday  I  resolved  I 
could  stand  it  no  longer.  I  determined  to  go  away 
until  the  whole  thing  was  forgotten.  'But',  they 
said  to  me,  'there  is  no  place,  on  land  or  sea,  where 
the  reporters  will  not  find  you*.  I  talked  the  mat 
ter  over  with  my  old  friend,  John  Bentley,  owner 


BLONDES    AND    SUFFRAGETTES     6r 

of  Baldpate  Inn,  and  he  in  his  kindness  gave  me 
the  key  to  this  hostelry." 

The  old  man  paused  and  passed  a  silk  handker 
chief  over  his  bald  head. 

"That,  sirs,"  he  said,  "is  my  story.  That  is 
why  you  see  me  on  Baldpate  Mountain  this  chill 
December  morning.  That  is  why  loneliness  can 
have  no  terrors,  exile  no  sorrows,  for  me.  That  is 
why  I  bravely  faced  your  revolver-shots.  Again 
let  me  repeat,  I  bear  no  malice  on  that  score.  You 
have  ruined  a  new  derby  hat,  and  the  honorarium 
of  professor  even  at  a  leading  university  is  not 
such  as  to  permit  of  many  purchases  in  that  line. 
But  I  forgive  you  freely.  Even  at  the  cannon's 
mouth  I  would  have  fled  from  reputation,  to  para 
phrase  the  poet." 

Wisely  Professor  Bolton  blinked  about  him. 
Mr.  Bland  was  half  asleep  in  his  chair,  but  Mr. 
Magee  was  quick  with  sympathy. 

"Professor,"  he  said,  "you  are  a  much  suffer 
ing  man.  I  feel  for  you.  Here,  I  am  sure,  you 
are  safe  from  reporters,  and  the  yellow  journals 
will  soon  forget  you  in  their  discovery  of  the  next 
distorted  wonder.  Briefly,  Mr.  Bland  and  myself 


62       SEVEiN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

will  outline  the  tangle  of  events  that  brought  us 
to  the  inn  —  " 

"Briefly  is  right,"  broke  in  Bland.  "And  then 
it's  me  for  that  mountainous  mattress  of  mine.  I 
can  rattle  my  story  off  in  short  order,  and  give 
you  the  fine  points  to-morrow.  Up  to  a  short  time 


But  Billy  Magee  interrupted.  An  idea,  mag 
nificent,  delicious,  mirthful,  had  come  to  him. 
Why  not?  He  chuckled  inwardly,  but  his  face 
was  most  serious. 

"I  should  like  to  tell  my  story  first,  if  you 
please,"  he  said. 

The  haberdasher  grunted.  The  professor  nod 
ded.  Mr.  Magee  looked  Bland  squarely  in  the 
eye,  strangled  the  laugh  inside  him,  and  began  : 

"Up  to  a  short  time  ago  I  was  a  haberdasher  in 
the  city  of  Reuton.  My  name,  let  me  state,  is 
Magee  —  William  Magee.  I  fitted  the  gay  shoul 
der-blades  of  Reuton  with  clothing  from  the  back 
pages  of  the  magazines,  and  as  for  neckties  —  " 

Mr.  Bland's  sly  eyes  had  opened  wide.  He  rose 
to  a  majestic  height  —  majestic  considering  the 
bed  quilt. 


BLONDES    AND    SUFFRAGETTES     63 

"See  here—"  he  began. 

"Please  don't  interrupt,"  requested  Mr.  Magee 
sweetly.  "I  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  happy  care 
free  haberdasher.  And  then— she  entered  my  life. 
Arabella  was  her  name.  Ah,  Professor,  your 
lady  pf  the  yellow  locks,  crisped  liken  golden  wire 
— even  she  must  never  in  my  presence  be  com 
pared  with  Arabella.  She — she  had — a — face — • 
Noah  Webster  couldn't  have  found  words  to  de 
scribe  it.  And  her  heart  was  true  to  yours  truly— 
at  least  I  thought  that  it  was." 

Mr.  Magee  rattled  on.  The  haberdasher,  his 
calling  and  his  tragedy  snatched  from  him  by  the 
humorous  Magee,  retired  with  sullen  face  into 
his  bed  quilt.  Carefully  Mr.  Magee  led  up  to  the 
coming  of  the  man  from  Jersey  City ;  in  detail  he 
laid  bare  the  duel  of  haberdashery  fought  in  the 
name  of  the  fair  Arabella.  As  he  proceeded,  his 
enthusiasm  grew.  He  added  fine  bits  that  had  es 
caped  Mr.  Bland.  He  painted  with  free  hand  the 
picture  of  tragedy's  dark  hour;  the  note  hinting 
at  suicide  he  gave  in  full.  Then  he  told  of  how 
his  courage  grew  again,  of  how  he  put  the  cow 
ardice  of  death  behind  him,  resolved  to  dare  all — «• 


64       SEVEN    KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

and  live.  He  finished  at  last,  his  voice  husky  with 
emotion.  Out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  he  glanced 
triumphantly  at  Bland.  That  gentleman  was  gaz 
ing  thoughtfully  at  the  blazing  logs. 

"You  did  quite  right,"  commented  Professor 
Bolton,  "in  making  up  your  mind  to  live.  I  con 
gratulate  you  on  your  common  sense.  And  per 
haps,  as  the  years  go  by,  you  will  realize  that  had 
you  married  your  Arabella,  you  would  not  have 
found  life  all  honey  and  roses.  She  was  fickle, 
unworthy  pf  you.  Soon  you  will  forget  Youth 
— ah,  youth  throws  off  its  sorrow  like  a  cloak.  A 
figure  not  original  with  me.  And  now — the  gen 
tleman  in  the — er — the  bed  quilt.  Has  he,  too,  a 
story?" 

"Yes,"  laughed  Mr.  Magee,  "let's  hear  now 
from  the  gentleman  in  the  bed  quilt.  Has  he,  too, 
a  story?  And  if  so,  what  is  it?" 

He  smiled  delightedly  into  the  eyes  of  Bland. 
What  would  the  ex-haberdasher  do,  shorn  of  his 
fictional  explanation  ?  Would  he  rise  in  his  wrath 
and  denounce  the  man  who  had  stolen  his  Ara 
bella?  Mr.  Bland  smiled  back.  He  stood  up. 


BLONDES   AND   SUFFRAGETTES     65 

And  a  contingency  that  had  not  entered  Mr.  Ma- 
gee's  mind  came  to  be. 

Mr.  Bland  walked  calmly  to  the  table,  and 
picked  up  a  popular  novel  that  lay  thereon.  On 
its  cover  was  the  picture  of  a  very  beautiful 
maiden. 

"See  that  dame?"  he  inquired  of  the  professor. 
"Sort  of  makes  a  man  sit  up  and  take  notice, 
doesn't  she?  Even  the  frost-bitten  haberdasher 
here  has  got  to  admit  that  in  some  ways  she  has 
this  Arabella  person  looking  like  a  faded  chromo 
in  your  grandmother's  parlor  on  a  rainy  after 
noon.  Ever  get  any  notion,  Professor,  the  way  a 
picture  like  that  boosts  a  novel  in  the  busy  marts 
of  trade?  No?  Well—" 

Mr.  Bland  continued.  Mr.  Magee  leaned  back, 
overjoyed,  in  his  chair.  Here  was  a  man  not  to 
be  annoyed  by 'the  mere  filching  of  his  story. 
Here  was  a  man  with  a  sense  of  humor — an  op 
ponent  worthy  his  foe's  best  efforts.  In  his  role 
of  a  haberdasher  overcome  with  woe,  Mr.  Magee 
listened. 

"I  used  to  paint  dames  like  that,"  Bland 


66       SEVEN    KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

saying  to  the  dazed  professor.  He  explained  how 
his  pictures  had  enabled  many  a  novelist  to  "eat 
up  the  highway  in  a  buzz-wagon."  As  he  ap 
proached  the  time  when  the  novelists  besieged 
him,  he  gave  full  play  to  his  imagination.  One, 
he  said,  sought  out  his  apartments  in  an  aeroplane. 

"Say,  Professor,"  he  finished,  "we're  in  the 
same  boat.  Both  hiding  from  writers.  A  fellow 
that's  spent  his  life  selling  neckties — well,  he  can't 
exactly  appreciate  our  situation.  There's  what 
you  might  call  a  bond  between  you  and  me.  D'ye 
know,  I  felt  drawn  to  you,  just  after  I  fired  that 
first  shot.  That's  why  I  didn't  blaze  away  again. 
We're  going  to  be  great  friends — I  can  read  it  in 
the  stars." 

He  took  the  older  man's  hand  feelingly,  shook 
it,  and  walked  away,  casting  a  covert  glance  of 
triumph  at  Mr.  Magee. 

The  face  of  the  holder  pf  the  Crandall  Chair 
of  Comparative  Literature  was  a  study.  He 
looked  first  at  one  young  man,  then  at  the  other. 
Again  he  applied  the  handkerchief  to  his  shining 
head. 
;  "All  this  is  very  odd,"  he  said  thoughtfully. ; 


BLONDES   AND   SUFFRAGETTES     67 

"A  man  of  sixty-two — particularly  one  who  has 
long  lived  in  the  uninspired  circle  surrounding  a 
university — has  not  the  quick  wit  of  youth.  I'm 
afraid  I  don't — but  no  matter.  It's  very  odd, 
though." 

He  permitted  Mr.  Magee  to  escort  him  into  the 
hall,  and  to  direct  his  search  for  a  bed  that  should 
serve  him  through  the  scant  remainder  of  the 
night.  Overcoats  and  rugs  were  pressed  into  serv 
ice  as  cover.  Mr.  Bland  blithely  assisted. 

"If  I  see  any  newspaper  reporters,"  he  assured 
the  professor  on  parting,  "I'll  damage  more  than 
their  derbies." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  the  old  man  heartily. 
"You  are  very  kind.  To-morrow  we  shall  become 
better  acquainted.  Good  night." 

The  two  young  men  came  out  and  stood  in  the 
hallway.  Mr.  Magee  spoke  in  a  low  tone. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said,  "for  stealing  your  Ara 
bella." 

"Take  her  and  welcome,"  said  Bland.  "She 
was  beginning  to  bore  me,  anyhow.  And  I'm  not 
in  your  class  as  an  actor."  He  came  close  to  Ma 
gee.  In  the  dim  light  that  streamed  out  from 


68       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

number  seven  the  latter  saw  the  look  on  his  facef 
and  knew  that,  underneath  all,  this  was  a  very 
much  worried  young  man. 

'Tor  God's  sake,"  cried  Bland,  "tell  me  who 
you  are  and  what  you're  doing  here.  In  three 
words — tell  me." 

"If  I  did,"  Mr.  Magee  replied,  "you  wouldn't 
believe  me.  Let  such  minor  matters  as  the  truth 
wait  over  till  to-morrow." 

"Well,  anyhow,"  Bland  said,  his  foot  on  the  top 
step,  "we  are  sure  of  one  thing — we  don't  trust 
each  other.  I've  got  one  parting  word  for  you. 
Don't  try  to  come  down-stairs  to-night.  I've  got 
a  gun,  and  I  ain't  afraid  to  shoot." 

He  paused.  A  look  of  fright  passed  over  his 
face.  For  on  the  floor  above  they  both  heard  soft 
footsteps — then  a  faint  click,  as  though  a  door 
had  been  gently  closed. 

"This  inn,"  whispered  Bland,  "has  more  keys 
than  a  literary  club  in  a  prohibition  town.  And 
every  one's  in  use,  I  guess.  Remember.  Don't 
try  to  come  down-stairs.  I've  warned  you.  Or 
Arabella's  cast-off  Romeo  may  be  found  with  a 
bullet  in  him  yet" 


BLONDES   AND    SUFFRAGETTES     69 

"I  shan't  forget  what  you  say,"  answered  Mr. 
Magee.  "Shall  we  look  about  up-stairs  ?" 

Bland  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  said.  "Go  in  and  go  to  bed.  If  s  the 
down-stairs  that — that  concerns  me.  Good  night." 

He  went  swiftly  down  the  steps,  leaving  Mr. 
Magee  staring  wonderingly  after  him.  Like  a 
wraith  he  merged  with  the  shadows  below.  Ma 
gee  turned  slowly,  and  entered  number  seven.  A 
fantastic  film  of  frost  was  on  the  windows ;  the  in 
ner  room  was  drear  and  chill.  Partially  undress 
ing,  he  lay  down  on  the  brass  bed  and  pulled  the 
covers  over  him. 

The  events  of  the  night  danced  in  giddy  array 
before  him  as  he  closed  his  eyes.  With  every 
groan  Baldpate  Inn  uttered  in  the  wind  he  started 
up,  keen  for  a  new  adventure.  At  length  his  mind 
seemed  to  stand  still,  and  there  remained  of  all 
that  amazing  evening's  pictures  but  one — that  of 
a  girl  in  a  blue  corduroy  suit  who  wept — wept 
only  that  her  smile  might  be  the  more  dazzling 
when  it  flashed  behind  the  tears.  "With  yellow 
locks,  crisped  like  golden  wire,"  murmured  Mr. 
Magee.  And  so  he  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A   PROFESSIONAL    HERMIT   APPEARS 

EVERY  morning  at  eight,  when  slumber's 
chains  had  bound  Mr.  Magee  in  his  New 
York  apartments,  he  was  awakened  by  a  pompous 
valet  named  Geoffrey  whom  he  shared  with  the 
other  young  men  in  the  building.  It  was  Geof 
frey's  custom  to  enter,  raise  the  curtains,  and 
speak  of  the  weather  in  a  voice  vibrant  with  feel 
ing,  as  of  something  he  had  prepared  himself  and 
was  anxious  to  have  Mr.  Magee  try.  So,  when 
a  rattling  noise  came  to  his  ear  on  his  first  morn 
ing  at  Baldpate  Inn,  Mr.  Magee  breathed  sleepily 
from  the  covers :  "Good  morning,  Geoffrey." 

But  no  cheery  voice  replied  in  terms  of  sun, 
wind,  or  rain.  Surprised,  Mr.  Magee  sat  up  in 
bed.  About  him,  the  maple-wood  furniture  of 
suite  seven  stood  shivering  in  the  chill  of  a  De 
cember  morning.  Through  the  door  at  his  left  he 

70 


A   PROFESSIONAL   HERMIT        71 

caught  sight  of  a  white  tub  into  which,  he  recalled 
sadly,  not  even  a  Geoffrey  could  coax  a  glittering 
drop.  Yes — he  was  at  Baldpate  Inn.  He  remem 
bered — the  climb  with  the  dazed  Quimby  up  the 
snowy  road,  the  plaint  of  the  lovelorn  haberdash 
er,  the  vagaries  of  the  professor  with  a  penchant 
for  blondes,  the  mysterious  click  of  the  door-latch 
on  the  floor  above.  And  last  of  all — strange  that 
it  should  have  been  last — a  girl  in  blue  corduroy 
somewhat  darker  than  her  eyes,  who  wept  amid 
the  station's  gloom. 

"I  wonder,"  reflected  Mr.  Magee,  staring  at  the 
very  brassy  bars  at  the  foot  of  his  bed,  "what  new 
variations  on  seclusion  the  day  will  bring  forth  ?" 

Again  came  the  rattling  noise  that  had  awak 
ened  him.  He  looked  toward  the  nearest  window, 
and  through  an  unfrosted  corner  of  the  pane  he 
saw  the  eyes  of  the  newest  variation  staring  at 
him  in  wonder.  They  were  dark  eyes,  and  kindly ; 
they  spoke  a  desire  to  enter. 

Rising  from  his  warm  retreat,  Mr.  Magee  took 
his  shivering  way  across  the  uncarpeted  floor  and 
unfastened  the  window's  catch.  From  the  blus 
tering  balcony  a  plump  little  man  stepped  inside. 


72       SEVEN   KEYS  TO   BALDPATE 

He  had  a  market  basket  on  his  arm.  His  face  was 
a  stranger  to  razors;  his  hair  to  shears.  He  re 
minded  Mr.  Magee  of  the  celebrated  doctor  who 
came  every  year  to  the  small  town  of  his  boyhood, 
there  to  sell  a  wonderful  healing  herb  to  the 
crowds  on  the  street  corner. 
1  Magee  dived  hastily  back  under  the  covers. 
"Well?"  he  questioned. 

"So  you're  the  fellow/'  remarked  the  little  man 
in  awe.  He  placed  the  basket  on  the  floor;  it  ap 
peared  to  be  filled  with  bromidic  groceries,  such  as 
the  most  subdued  householder  carries  home. 

"Which  fellow?"  asked  Mr.  Magee. 

'The  fellow  Elijah  Quimby  told  me  about,"  ex 
plained  he  of  the  long  brown  locks.  "The  fellow 
that's  come  up  to  Baldpate  Inn  to  be  alone  with 
his  thoughts." 

"You're  one  of  the  villagers,  I  take  it,"  guessed 
Mr.  Magee. 

"You're  dead  wrong.  I'm  no  villager.  My  in-, 
stincts  are  all  in  the  other  direction — away  from 
the  crowd.  I  live  up  near  the  top  of  Baldpate,  in 
a  little  shack  I  built  myself.  My  name's  Peters — 
Jake  Peters — in  the  winter.  But  in  the  summer, 


A   PROFESSIONAL   HERMIT        73 

when  the  inn's  open,  and  the  red  and  white  awn 
ings  are  out,  and  the  band  plays  in  the  casino 
every  night — then  I'm  the  Hermit  of  Baldpate 
Mountain.  I  come  down  here  and  sell  picture 
post-cards  of  myself  to  the  ladies." 

Mr.  Magee  appeared  overcome  with  mirth. 

"A  professional  hermit,  by  the  gods !"  he  cried. 
"Say,  I  didn't  know  Baldpate  Mountain  was  fitted 
up  with  all  the  modern  improvements.  This  is 
great  luck.  I'm  an  amateur  at  the  hermit  busi 
ness,  you'll  have  to  teach  me  the  fine  points.  Sit 
down." 

"Just  between  ourselves,  I'm  not  a  regular  her* 
mit,"  said  the  plump  bewhiskered  one,  sitting  gin» 
gerly  on  the  edge  of  a  frail  chair.  "Not  one  of 
these  'all  for  love  of  a  woman'  hermits  you  read 
about  in  books.  Of  course,  I  have  to  pretend  I 
am,  in  summer,  in  order  to  sell  the  cards  and  do 
my  whole  duty  by  the  inn  management.  A  lot  of 
the  women  ask  me  in  soft  tones  about  the  great 
disappointment  that  drove  me  to  old  Baldpate, 
and  I  give  'em  various  answers,  according  to  how 
I  feel.  Speaking  to  you  as  a  friend,  and  consider 
ing  the  fact  that  it's  the  dead  of  winter,  I  may  say 


74       SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

there  was  little  or  no  romance  in  my  life.  I  mar 
ried  early,  and  stayed  married  a  long  time.  I 
came  up  here  for  peace  and  quiet,  and  because  I 
felt  a  man  ought  to  read  something  besides  time 
tables  and  tradesmen's  bills,  and  have  something 
over  his  head  besides  a  first  and  second  mortgage." 

"Back  to  nature,  in  other  words,"  remarked 
Mr.  Magee. 

"Yes,  sir — back  with  a  rush.  I  was  down  to 
the  village  this  morning  for  a  few  groceries,  and 
I  stopped  off  at  Quimby's,  as  I  often  do.  He  told 
me  about  you.  I  help  him  a  lot  around  the  inn, 
and  we  arranged  I  was  to  stop  in  and  start  your 
fire,  and  do  any  other  little  errands  you  might 
want  done.  I  thought  we  ought  to  get  acquainted, 
you  and  me,  being  as  we're  both  literary  men, 
after  a  manner  of  speaking." 

"No?"  cried  Mr.  Magee. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Hermit  of  Baldpate.  "I  dip 
into  that  work  a  little  now  and  then.  Some  of  my 
verses  on  the  joys  of  solitude  have  appeared  in 
print — on  the  post-cards  I  sell  to  the  guests  in  the 
summer.  But  my  life-work,  as  you  might  call  it, 
is  a  book  I've  had  under  way  for  some  time.  It's 


A   PROFESSIONAL   HERMIT        75 

called  simply  Woman.  Just  that  one  word — but, 
oh,  the  meaning  in  it!  That  book  is  going  to 
prove  that  all  the  trouble  in  the  world,  from  the 
beginning  of  time,  was  caused  by  females.  Not 
just  say  so,  mind  you.  Prove  it !" 

"A  difficult  task,  I'm  afraid,"  smiled  Magee. 

"Not  difficult — long/'  corrected  the  hermit. 
"When  I  started  out,  four  years  ago,  I  thought  it 
would  just  be  a  case  of  a  chapter  on  Eve,  and  hon 
orable  mention  for  Cleopatra  and  Helen  of  Troy, 
and  a  few  more  like  that,  and  the  thing  would  be 
done.  But  as  I  got  into  the  subject,  I  was  fairly 
buried  under  new  evidence.  Then  Mr.  Carnegie 
came  along  and  gave  Upper  Asquewan  Falls  a 
library.  It's  wonderful  to  think  the  great  works 
that  man  will  be  responsible  for.  I've  dedicated 
Woman  to  him.  Since  the  new  library,  I've  dug 
up  information  about  a  thousand  disasters  I  never 
dreamed  of  before,  and  I  contend  that  if  you  go 
back  a  ways  in  any  one  of  'em,  you'll  find  the 
fluffy  little  lady  that  started  the  whole  rumpus. 
So  I  hunt  the  woman.  I  reckon  the  French  would 
call  me  the  greatest  cherches  la  femme  in  history." 

"A  fascinating  pursuit,"  laughed  Mr.  Magee. 


76       SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

"I'm  glad  you've  told  me  about  it,  and  I  shall 
watch  the  progress  of  the  work  with  interest.  Al 
though  I  can't  say  that  I  entirely  agree  with  you. 
jHere  and  there  is  a  woman  who  more  than  makes 
amends  for  whatever  trouble  her  sisters  have 
caused.  One,  for  instance,  with  golden  hair,  and 
eyes  that  when  they  weep — " 

"You're  young,"  interrupted  the  little  man,  ris 
ing.  "There  ain't  no  use  to  debate  it  with  you. 
I  might  as  well  try  to  argue  with  a  storm  at  sea. 
Some  men  keep  the  illusion  to  the  end  of  their 
days,  and  I  hope  you're  one.  I  reckon  I'll  start 
your  fire." 

He  went  into  the  outer  room,  and  Mr.  Magee 
lay  for  a  few  moments  listening  to  his  prepara 
tions  about  the  fireplace.  This  was  comfort,  he 
thought.  And  yet,  something  was  wrong.  Was 
it  the  growing  feeling  of  emptiness  inside  ?  Un 
doubtedly.  He  sat  up  in  bed  and  leaning  over, 
gazed  into  the  hermit's  basket.  The  packages  he 
saw  there  made  his  feeling  of  emptiness  the  more 
acute. 

"I  say,  Mr.  Peters,"  he  cried,  leaping  from  bed 
and  running  into  the  other  room,  where  the  her- 


A   PROFESSIONAL   HERMIT        77 

mit  was  persuading  a  faint  blaze,  "I've  an  idea. 
You  can  cook,  can't  you  ?" 

"Cook?"  repeated  the  hermit.  "Well,  yes,  I've 
had  to  learn  a  few  things  about  it,  living  far  from 
the  rathskellars  the  way  I  do." 

"The  very  man,"  rejoiced  Mr.  Magee.  "You 
must  stay  here  and  cook  for  me — for  us." 

"Us?"  asked  the  hermit,  staring. 

"Yes.  I  forgot  to  tell  you.  After  Mr.  Quimby 
left  me  last  night,  two  other  amateur  hermits  hove 
in  view.  One  is  a  haberdasher  with  a  broken 
heart—" 

"Woman,"  cried  the  triumphant  Peters. 

"Name,  Arabella,"  laughed  Magee.  "The 
other's  a  college  professor  who  made  an  indiscreet 
remark  about  blondes.  You  won't  mind  them,  I'm 
sure,  and  they  may  be  able  to  help  you  a  lot  with 
your  great  work." 

"I  don't  know  what  Quimby  will  say,"  studied 
the  hermit.  "I  reckon  he'll  run  'em  out.  He's 
against  this  thing — afraid  of  fire." 

"Quimby  will  come  later,"  Mr.  Magee  assured 
him,  drawing  on  a  dressing-gown.  "Just  now  the 
idea  is  a  little  water  in  yonder  tub,  and  a  nice 


78       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

cheerful  breakfast  after.  It's  going  to  pay  you  a 
lot  better  than  selling  post-cards  to  romantic 
ladies,  I  promise  you.  I  won't  take  you  away 
from  a  work  for  which  the  world  is  panting  with 
out  more  than  making  it  up  to  you  financially. 
Where  do  you  stand  as  a  coffee  maker?" 

"Wait  till  you  taste  it,"  said  Peters  reassur 
ingly.  "I'll  bring  you  up  some  water." 

He  started  for  the  door,  but  Mr.  Magee  pre 
ceded  him. 

"The  haberdasher,"  he  explained,  "sleeps  be 
low,  and  he's  a  nervous  man.  He  might  commit 
the  awful  error  of  shooting  the  only  cook  on 
Baldpate  Mountain." 

Mr.  Magee  went  out  into  the  hall  and  called 
from  the  depths  the  figure  of  Bland,  fully  attired 
in  his  flashy  garments,  and  looking  tawdry  and 
tired  in  the  morning  light. 

"I've  been  up  hours,"  he  remarked.  "Heard 
somebody  knocking  round  the  kitchen,  but  I  ain't 
seen  any  breakfast  brought  in  on  a  silver  tray. 
My  inside  feels  like  the  Mammoth  Cave." 

Mr.  Magee  introduced  the  Hermit  of  Baldpate. 

"Pleased  to  meet  you,"  said  Bland.    "I  guess  it 


A   PROFESSIONAL   HERMIT        7$ 

was  you  I  heard  in  the  kitchen.  So  you're  going 
to  cater  to  this  select  few,  are  you?  Believe  me, 
you  can't  get  on  the  job  any  too  soon  to  suit  me." 

Out  of  a  near-by  door  stepped  the  black-garbed 
figure  of  Professor  Thaddeus  Bolton,  and  him 
Mr.  Magee  included  in  the  presentation  cere 
monies.  After  the  hermit  had  disappeared  below, 
burdened  with  his  market  basket  and  the  supplies 
Mr.  Magee  had  brought  the  night  before,  the 
three  amateurs  at  the  hermit  game  gathered  by 
the  fire  in  number  seven,  and  Mr.  Bland  spoke 
feelingly : 

"I  don't  know  where  you  plucked  that  cook,  but 
believe  me,  you  get  a  vote  of  thanks  from  yours 
truly.  What  is  he — an  advertisement  for  a  hair 
restorer  ?" 

"He's  a  hermit,"  explained  Magee,  "and  lives 
in  a  shack  near  the  mountain-top.  Hermits  and 
barbers  aren't  supposed  to  mix.  He's  also  an  au 
thor,  and  is  writing  a  book  in  which  he  lays  all  the 
trouble  of  the  ages  at  the  feet  of  woman.  Please 
treat  him  with  the  respect  all  these  dignified  activ 
ities  demand/' 

"A  writer,  you  say,"  commented  Professor  Bol- 


8o       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

ton.  "Let  us  hope  it  will  not  interfere  with  his 
cooking  abilities.  For  even  I,  who  am  riot  much 
given  to  thought  about  material  things,  must  ad 
mit  the  presence  of  a  gnawing  hunger  within." 

They  talked  little,  being  men  unfed,  while  Jake 
Peters  started  proceedings  in  the  kitchen,  and 
tramped  up-stairs  with  many  pails  of  water.  Mr. 
Magee  requested  warm  water  for  shaving ;  where 
upon  he  was  regarded  with  mingled  emotions  by 
his  companions. 

"You  ain't  going  to  see  any  skirts  up  here,"  Mr. 
Bland  promised  him.  And  Mr.  Peters,  bringing 
the  water  from  below,  took  occasion  to  point  out 
that  shaving  was  one  of  man's  troubles  directly 
attributable  to  woman's  presence  in  the  world. 

At  length  the  hermit  summoned  them  to  break 
fast,  and  as  they  descended  the  broad  stair  the 
heavenly  odor  of  coffee  sent  a  glow  to  their  hearts. 
Peters  had  built  a  rousing  fire  in  the  big  fireplace 
^opposite  the  clerk's  desk  in  the  office,  and  in  front 
of  this  he  had  placed  a  table  which  held  promise 
of  a  satisfactory  breakfast  As  the  three  sat 
down,  Mr.  Bland  spoke : 


A   PROFESSIONAL   HERMIT        81 

"I  don't  know  about  you,  gentlemen,  but  I  could 
fall  on  Mr.  Peters'  neck  and  call  him  blessed." 

The  gentleman  thus  referred  to  served  them 
genially.  He  brought  to  Mr.  Magee,  between 
whom  and  himself  he  recognized  the  tie  of  au 
thorship,  a  copy  of  a  New  York  paper  that  he 
claimed  to  get  each  morning  from  the  station 
agent,  and  which  helped  him  greatly,  he  said,  in 
his  eternal  search  for  the  woman.  As  the  meal 
passed,  Mr.  Magee  glanced  it  through.  Twice  he 
looked  up  from  it  to  study  keenly  his  queer  com 
panions  at  Baldpate  Inn.  Finally  he  handed  it 
across  the  table  to  the  haberdasher.  The  dull  yel 
low  sun  of  a  winter  morning  drifted  in  from  the 
white  outdoors;  the  fire  sputtered  gaily  in  the 
grate.  Also,  Mr.  Peters'  failing  for  literature  in 
terfered  in  no  way  with  his  talents  as  cook.  The 
three  finished  the  repast  in  great  good  humor,  and 
^Mr.  Magee  handed  round  cigars. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  remarked,  pushing  back  his 
chair,  "we  find  ourselves  in  a  peculiar  position. 
Three  lone  men,  knowing  nothing  of  one  another, 
we  have  sought  the  solitude  of  Baldpate  Inn  at 


82       SEVEN   KEYS  TO   BALDPATE 

almost  the  same  moment.  Why  ?  Last  night,  be 
fore  you  came,  Professor  Bolton,  Mr.  Bland  gave 
me  as  his  reason  for  being  here  the  story  of  Ara 
bella,  which  I  afterward  appropriated  as  a  joke 
and  gave  as  my  own  reason.  I  related  to  Mr., 
Bland  the  fiction  about  the  artist  and  the  besieg 
ing  novelists.  We  swapped  stories  when  you 
came — it  was  our  merry  little  method  of  doubting 
each  other's  word.  Perhaps  it  was  bad  taste.  At 
any  rate,  looking  at  it  in  the  morning  light,  I  am 
inclined  to  return  Mr.  Bland's  Arabella,  and  no 
questions  asked.  He  is  again  the  lovelorn  haber 
dasher.  I  am  inclined  to  believe,  implicitly,  your 
story.  That  is  my  proposition.  No  doubts  of  one 
another.  We  are  here  for  whatever  reasons  we 
say  we  are." 

The  professor  nodded  gravely. 

"Last  night,"  went  on  Mr.  Magee,  "there  was 
some  talk  between  Mr.  Bland  and  myself  about 
one  of  us  leaving  the  inn.  Mr.  Bland  demanded 
it.  I  trust  he  sees  the  matter  differently  this  morn 
ing,  I  for  one  should  be  sorry  to  see  him  go." 

"I've  changed  my  mind,"  said  Mr.  Bland.  The 
look  on  his  thin  face  was  not  a  pleasant  one. 


A   PROFESSIONAL   HERMIT        83 

"Very  good,"  went  on  Mr.  Magee.  "I  sec  no 
reason  why  we  should  not  proceed  on  friendly 
terms.  Mr.  Peters  has  agreed  to  cook  for  us.  He 
can  no  doubt  be  persuaded  to  attend  to  our  other 
wants.  For  his  services  we  shall  pay  him  gener 
ously,  in  view  of  the  circumstances.  As  for 
Quimby — I  leave  you  to  make  your  peace  with 
him." 

"I  have  a  letter  to  Mr.  Quimby  from  my  old 
friend,  John  Bentley,"  said  the  professor,  "which 
I  am  sure  will  win  me  the  caretaker's  warm  re 
gard." 

Mr.  Magee  looked  at  Bland. 

"I'll  get  Andy  Rutter  on  the  wire,"  said  that 
gentleman.  "Quimby  will  listen  to  him,  I  guess." 

"Maybe,"  remarked  Magee  carelessly.  "Who  is 
Rutter?" 

"He's  manager  of  the  inn  when  it's  open,"  an- 
,swered  Bland.  He  looked  suspiciously  at  Magee. 
"I  only  know  him  slightly,"  he  added. 

"Those  matters  you  will  arrange  for  your 
selves,"  Mr.  Magee  went  on.  "I  shall  be  very 
glad  of  your  company  if  you  can  fix  it  to  stay. 
Believe  it  or  not — I  forgot,  we  agreed  to  believe, 


84       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

didn't  we? — I  am  here  to  do  some  writing.  I'm 
going  up  to  my  room  now  to  do  a  little  work.  All 
I  ask  of  you  gentlemen  is  that,  as  a  favor  to  me, 
you  refrain  from  shooting  at  each  other  while  I 
am  gone.  You  see,  I  am  trying  to  keep  crude 
melodrama  out  of  my  stuff." 

"I  am  sure,"  remarked  Professor  Bolton,  "that 
the  use  of  firearms  as  a  means  of  social  diversion 
between  Mr.  Bland  and  myself  is  unthought  of." 

"I  hope  so,"  responded  Magee.  "There,  then, 
the  matter  rests.  We  are  here — that  is  all."  He 
hesitated,  as  though  in  doubt.  Then,  with  a  de 
cisive  motion,  he  drew  toward  him  the  New  York 
paper.  With  his  eyes  on  the  head-lines  of  the  first 
page,  he  continued:  "I  shall  demand  no  further 
explanations.  And  except  for  this  once,  I  shall 
make  no  reference  to  this  story  in  the  newspaper, 
to  the  effect  that  early  yesterday  morning,  in  a 
laboratory  at  one  of  our  leading  universities,  a 
young  assistant  instructor  was  found  dead  under 
peculiar  circumstances."  He  glanced  keenly  at  the 
bald-headed  little  man  across  from  him.  "Nor 
shall  I  make  conversation  of  the  fact,"  he  added, 
"that  the  professor  of  chemistry  at  the  university, 


A   PROFESSIONAL   HERMIT        85 

a  man  past  middle  age,  respected  highly  in  the  uni 
versity  circle,  is  missing." 

An  oppressive  silence  followed  this  remark. 
Mr.  Eland's  sly  eyes  sought  quickly  the  profess 
or's  face.  The  older  man  sat  staring  at  his  plate ; 
then  he  raised  his  head  and  the  round  spectacles 
were  turned  full  on  Magee. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  Professor  Bolton 
evenly. 

"There  is  another  story  in  this  paper,"  went  on 
Mr.  Magee,  glancing  at  the  haberdasher,  "that,  it 
seems  to  me,  I  ought  to  taboo  as  table  talk  at  Bald- 
pate  Inn.  It  relates  that  a  few  days  ago  the  youth 
ful  cashier  of  a  bank  in  a  small  Pennsylvania 
town  disappeared  with  thirty  thousand  dollars  of 
the  bank's  funds.  No,"  he  concluded,  "we  are 
simply  here,  gentlemen,  and  I  am  very  glad  to  let 
it  go  at  that." 

Mr.  Bland  sneered  knowingly. 

"I  should  think  you  would  be,"  he  said.  "If 
you'll  turn  that  paper  over  you'll  read  on  the  back 
page  that  day  before  yesterday  a  lot  of  expensive 
paintings  in  a  New  York  millionaire's  house  were 
cut  from  their  frames,  and  that  the  young  artisj; 


86       SEVEN    KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

who  was  doing  retouching  in  the  house  at  the  time 
has  been  just  careless  enough  not  to  send  his  ad 
dress  to  the  police.  It's  a  small  matter,  of  course, 
and  the  professor  and  I  will  never  mention  it 
again." 

Mr.  Magee  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed 
heartily. 

"We  understand  one  another,  it  seems,"  he 
said.  "I  look  forward  to  pleasant  companionship 
where  I  had  expected  solitude.  You  will  excuse 
me  now — there  is  the  work  to  which  I  referred. 
Ah,  here's  Peters,"  he  added  as  the  hermit  en 
tered  through  the  dining-room  door  at  the  side  of 
the  stairs. 

"All  finished,  gentlemen?"  he  asked,  coming 
forward.  "Now,  this  is  solid  comfort,  ain't  it? 
I  reckon  when  you  get  a  few  days  of  this,  you'll 
all  become  hermits,  and  build  yourselves  shacks 
on  the  mountain.  Solid  comfort.  No  woman  to 
make  you  put  on  overshoes  when  you  go  out,  or 
lecture  you  about  the  effects  of  alcohol  on  the 
stomach.  Heaven,  I  call  it." 

"Peters,"  said  Mr.  Magee,  "we  have  been  won- 


A   PROFESSIONAL   HERMIT        87 

dering  if  you  will  stay  on  here  and  cook  for  us. 
We  need  you.    How  about  it  ?" 

"Well— 111  be  glad  to  help  you  out,"  the  her- 

•mit  replied.  "I  guess  I  can  manage  to  give  satis- 
f 

faction,  seeing  there  ain't  no  women  around.  If, 
there  was,  I  wouldn't  think  of  it.  Yes,  I'll  stay- 
and  do  what  I  can  to  boost  the  hermit  life  in  your 
estimation.  I — " 

He  stopped.  His  eyes  were  on  the  dining-room, 
door,  toward  which  Mr.  Magee's  back  was  turned. 
The  jaw  of  Peters  fell,  and  his  mouth  stood  wide 
open.     Behind  the  underbrush  of  beard  a  very 
surprised  face  was  discernible. 

Mr.  Magee  turned  quickly.  A  few  feet  inside 
the  door  stood  the  girl  of  the  station,  weeping  no 
more,  but  radiant  with  smiles.  Back  of  her  was 
the  determined  impossible  companion  of  yester-, 
day. 

"Oh,  mamma,"  laughed  the  girl,  "we're  too  late 
'for  breakfast !    Isn't  it  a  shame  ?" 
k     Mr.  Bland's  lean  hands  went  quickly  to  adjust 
liis  purple  tie.     Professor  Bolton  looked  every, 
inch  the  owl  as  he  blinked  in  dazed  fashion  at  the 


88       SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

blue  corduroy  vision.  Gingerly  Mr.  Peters  set 
down  the  plates  he  had  taken  from  the  table,  still 
neglecting  his  open  mouth. 

Mr.  Magee  rose  from  the  table,  and  went  for 
ward  with  outstretched  hand. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   MAYOR    CASTS   A   SHADOW   BEFORE 


^TT^ROM  tears  to  smiles,"  said  Mr.  Magee, 

1  taking  the  girl's  hand  "What  worked  the 
transformation?  Not  the  Commercial  House,  I 
know,  for  I  passed  it  last  evening." 

"No,  hardly  the  Commercial  House,"  laughed 
the  girl  "Rather  the  sunshine  of  a  winter  morn 
ing,  the  brisk  walk  up  the  mountain,  and  the  sight 
of  the  Hermit  of  Baldpate  with  eyes  like  saucers 
staring  at  a  little  girl  who  once  bought  his  postal 
cards." 

"Then  you  know  Mr.  Peters  ?"  inquired  Magee. 

"Is  that  his  name  ?  You  see,  I  never  met  him  in 
private  life — he  was  just  the  hermit  when  I  knew 
him.  I  used  to  come  to  Baldpate  in  the  summers, 
and  send  his  cards  back  to  the  folks  at  home,  and 
dream  dreams  of  his  love-story  when  from  my 
window  I  saw  the  light  of  his  shack  at  night  I'm 
so  glad  to  meet  Mr.  Peters  informally." 

so 


90       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

She  held  out  her  hand,  but  Peters,  by  long  prac 
tise  wary  of  women,  had  burdened  himself  with 
breakfast  plates  which  prevented  his  clasping  it 
He  muttered  "How  d'ye  do  ?"  and  fled  toward  the 
door,  narrowly  averting  what  would  have  proved 
a  serious  collision  with  the  large  woman  on  the 
way. 

"Mr.  Peters  meets  so  few  of  your  sex  in  win 
ter,"  Magee  apologized,  "you  must  pardon  his 
clumsiness.  This  gentleman" — he  indicated  the 
professor,  who  arose — "is  Thaddeus  Bolton,  a 
distinguished  member  of  a  certain  university  fac 
ulty,  who  has  fled  to  Baldpate  to  escape  the  press 
of  America.  And  this  is  Mr.  Bland,  who  hides 
here  from  the  world  the  scars  of  a  broken  heart 
But  let  us  not  go  into  details." 

The  girl  smiled  brightly.  "And  you — "  she 
asked. 

"William  Hallo  well  Magee,"  he  returned,  bow 
ing  low.  "I  have  a  neat  little  collection  of  stories 
accounting  for  my  presence  here,  from  which  I 
shall  allow  you  to  choose  later.  Not  to  mention 
the  real  one,  which  is  simple  almost  to  a  fault/' 

"I  am  so  happy  to  meet  you  all,"  said  the  girt. 


HE  CASTS  A  SHADOW  BEFORE       91 

"We  shall  no  doubt  become  very  good  friends. 
For  mamma  and  I  have  also  come  to  Baldpate 
Inn — to  stay." 

Mr.  Bland  opened  wide  his  usually  narrow  eyes, 
and  ran  his  hand  thoughtfully  over  his  one  day's 
beard.  Professor  Bolton  blinked  his  astonish 
ment.  Mr.  Magee  smiled. 

"I,  for  one,  am  delighted  to  hear  it,"  he  said. 

"My  name/'  went  on  the  girl,  "is  Mary  Norton. 
May  I  present  my  mother,  Mrs.  Norton  ?" 

The  older  woman  adopted  what  was  obviously 
her  society  manner.  Once  again  Mr.  Magee  felt 
a  pang  of  regret  that  this  should  be  the  parent  of 
a  girl  so  charming. 

"I  certainly  am  pleased  to  meet  you  all,"  she 
said  in  her  heavy  voice.  "Ain't  it  a  lovely  morn 
ing  after  the  storm?  The  sun's  almost  blinding." 

"Some  explanation,"  put  in  Miss  Norton  quick 
ly,  "is  due  you  if  I  am  to  thrust  myself  thus  upon 
you.  I  am  perfectly  willing  to  tell  why  I  am 
here — but  the  matter  mustn't  leak  out.  I  can  trust 
you,  I'm  sure." 

Mr.  Magee  drew  up  chairs,  and  the  two  women 
were  seated  before  the  fire. 


92       SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

"The  bandits  of  Baldpate,"  he  remarked  flip 
pantly,  glancing  at  the  two  men,  "have  their  own 
code  of  honor,  and  the  first  rule  is  never  to  betray 
a  pal." 

"Splendid !"  laughed  the  girl.  "You  said,  I  be 
lieve,  that  Professor  Bolton  was  fleeing  from  the 
newspapers.  I  am  fleeing  for  the  newspapers — • 
to  attract  their  attention — to  lure  them  into  giving 
me  that  thing  so  necessary  to  a  woman  in  my  pro 
fession,  publicity.  You  see,  I  am  an  actress.  The 
name  I  gave  you  is  not  my  stage  name.  That, 
perhaps,  you  would  know.  I  employ  a  gentleman 
to  keep  me  before  the  public  as  much  as  possible. 
It's  horrid,  I  know,  but  it  means  bread  and  butter 
to  me.  That  gentleman,  my  press-agent,  evolved 
the  present  scheme — a  mysterious  disappearance." 

She  paused  and  looked  at  the  others.  Mr.  Ma- 
gee  surveyed  her  narrowly.  The  youthful  bloom 
of  her  cheek  carried  to  him  no  story  of  grease 
f  ;,int;  her  unaffected  manner  was  far  from  sug 
gesting  anything  remotely  connected  with  the 
stage.  He  wondered. 

"I  am  to  disappear  completely  for  a  time,"  she 
went  on.  "  'As  though  the  earth  had  swallowed 


HE  CASTS  A  SHADOW  BEFORE       93 

me'  will  be  the  good  old  phrase  of  the  reporters. 
I  am  to  linger  here  at  Baldpate  Inn,  P.  key  to  which 
my  press-agent  has  secured  for  me.  Meanwhile, 
the  papers  will  speak  tearfully  of  me  in  their  head 
lines — at  least,  I  hope  they  will.  Can't  you  just' 
see  them — those  head-lines?  'Beautiful  Actress 
Drops  from  Sight'."  She  stopped,  blushing. 
"Every  woman  who  gets  into  print,  you  know,  is 
beautiful." 

"But  it'd  be  no  lie  in  your  case,  dearie,"  put  in 
Mrs.  Norton,  feeling  carefully  of  her  atrociously 
blond  store  hair. 

"Your  mother  takes  the  words  from  my 
mouth,"  smiled  Mr.  Magee.  "Guard  as  they  will 
against  it,  the  newspapers  let  the  truth  crop  out 
occasionally.  And  this  will  be  such  an  occasion." 

"From  what  part  of  Ireland  do  you  come?" 
laughed  the  girl.  She  seemed  somewhat  embar 
rassed  by  her  mother's  open  admiration.  "Well, 
setting  all  blarney  aside,  such  will  be  the  head-, 
lines.  And  when  the  last  clue  is  exhausted,  and 
my  press-agent  is  the  same,  I  come  back  to  appear 
in  a  new  play,  a  well-known  actress.  Of  such  flip 
pant  things  is  a  Broadway  reputation  built." 


94       SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

"We  all  wish  you  success,  I'm  sure."  Mr.  Ma- 
gee  searched  his  memory  in  vain  for  this  "ac 
tress's"  name  and  fame.  Could  it  be  possible,  he 
wondered,  at  this  late  day,  that  any  one  would  iry 
for  publicity  by  such  an  obvious  worn-out  road? 
Hardly.  The  answer  was  simple.  Another  fable 
was  being  spun  from  whole  cloth  beneath  the  roof 
of  Baldpate  Inn.  "We  have  a  New  York  paper 
here/'  he  went  on,  "but  as  yet  there  seems  to  be 
ao  news  of  your  sad  disappearance." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  the  limit  if  they  didn't  fall  for 
it  ?"  queried  the  older  woman. 

"Fall  for  it,"  repeated  Professor  Bolton,  not 
questioningly,  but  with  the  air  of  a  scientist  about 
to  add  a  new  and  rare  specimen  to  his  alcohol  jar. 

"She  means,  if  they  didn't  accept  my  disappear 
ance  as  legitimate  news,"  explained  the  girl. 
"That  would  be  very  disappointing.  But  surely 
fhere  was  no  harm  in  making  the  experiment." 

"They're  a  clever  lot,  those  newspaper  guys,'5 
sneered  Mr.  Bland,  "in  their  own  opinion.  But 
when  you  come  right  down  to  it,  every  one  of  'em 
has  a  nice  little  collection  of  gold  bricks  in  his 


HE  CASTS  A  SHADOW  BEFORE       95 

closet.  I  guess  you've  got  them  going.  I  hope 
so." 

"Thank  you,"  smiled  the  girl.  "You  are  very 
kind.  You  are  here,  I  understand,  because  of  an 
unfortunate — er — affair  of  the  heart?" 

Mr.  Bland  smoothed  back  his  black  oily  hair 
from  his  forehead,  and  smirked.  "Oh,  now — " 
he  protested. 

"Arabella,"  put  in  Mr.  Magee,  <;was  her  name. 
The  beauties  of  history  and  mythology  hobbled 
into  oblivion  at  sight  of  her." 

"I'm  quick  to  forget,"  insisted  Mr.  Bland. 

"That  does  you  no  credit,  I'm  sure,"  replied  the 
girl  severely.  "And  now,  mamma,  1 1  think  we 
had  better  select  our  rooms — " 

She  paused.  For  Elijah  Quimby  had  come  in 
through  the  dining-room  door,  and  stood  gazing 
at  the  grpup  before  the  fire,  his  face  reflecting 
what  Mr.  Magee,  the  novelist,  would  not  have  hes 
itated  r,  moment  in  terming  "mingled  emotions". 

"Well/'  drawled  Mr.  Quimby.  He  strode  into 
the  room.  "Mr.  Magee,"  he  said,  "that  letter 
from  Mr.  Bentley  asked  me  to  let  you  stay  at 


96       SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

Baldpate  Inn.    There  wasn't  anything  in  it  about 
your  bringing  parties  of  friends  along/' 

"These  are  not  friends  I've  brought  along,"  ex 
plained  Magee.  "They're  simply  some  more  ama 
teur  hermits  who  have  strolled  in  from  time  to 
time.  All  have  their  individual  latch-keys  to  the 
hermitage.  And  all,  I  believe,  have  credentials 
for  you  to  examine." 

Mr.  Quimby  stared  in  angry  wonder. 

"Is  the  world  crazy  ?"  he  demanded.  "Any  ons 
'd  think  it  was  July,  the  way  people  act.  The 
inn's  closed,  I  tell  you.  It  ain't  running." 

Professor  Bolton  rose  from  his  chair. 

"So  you  are  Quimby,"  he  said  in  a  soothing 
tone.  "I'm  glad  to  meet  you  at  last.  My  old 
friend  John  Bentley  has  spoken  of  you  so  often. 
I  have  a  letter  from  him."  He  drew  the  care 
taker  to  one  side,  and  took  an  envelope  from  his 
pocket.  The  two  conversed  in  low  tones. 

Quickly  the  girl  in  the  corduroy  suit  leaned  to 
ward  Mr.  Magee.  She  whispered,  and  her  tone 
was  troubled : 

"Stand  by  me.    I'm  afraid  I'll  need  your  help.'* 

"What's  the  matter?"  inquired  Magee. 


HE  CASTS  A  SHADOW  BEFORE       97 

"I  haven't  much  of  any  right  here,  I  guess.  But 
I  had  to  come." 

"But  your  key  ?" 

"I  fear  my — my  press-agent — stole  it." 

A  scornful  remark  as  to  the  antiquated  methods 
of  that  mythical  publicity  promoter  rose  to  Mr. 
Magee's  lips,  but  before  he  spoke  he  looked  into 
her  eyes.  And  the  remark  was  never  made.  For 
in  their  wonderful  depths  he  saw  worry  and  fear 
and  unhappiness,  as  he  had  seen  them  there  amid 
tears  in  the  station. 

"Never  mind,"  he  said  very  gently,  "I'll  see  you 
through." 

Quimby  was  standing  over  Mr.  Bland.  "How 
about  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"Call  up  Andy  Rutter  and  ask  about  me,"  re 
plied  Bland,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  prefers  war 
to  peace. 

"I  work  for  Mr.  Rentley,"  said  Quimby. 
"Rutter  hasn't  any  authority  here.  He  isn't  to  be 
manager  next  season,  I  understand.  However, 
the  professor  wants  me  to  let  you  stay.  He  says 
he'll  be  responsible."  Mr.  Bland  looked  in  open- 
mouthed  astonishment  at  the  unexpected  sponsor 


98       SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

he  had  found.    "And  you?"  went  on  Quimby  to 
the  women. 

"Why—"  began  Miss  Norton. 

"Absolutely  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Magee.  "They 
come  from  Hal  Bentley,  like  myself.  He's  put 
them  in  my  care.  I'll  answer  for  them."  He  saw 
the  girl's  eyes ;  they  spoke  her  thanks. 

Mr.  Quimby  shook  his  head  as  one  in  a  dream. 

"All  this  is  beyond  me — way  beyond,"  he  rumi 
nated.  "Nothing  like  it  ever  happened  before 
that  I've  heard  of.  I'm  going  to  write  all  about  it 
to  Mr.  Bentley,  and  I  suppose  I  got  to  let  you  stay 
till  I  hear  from  him.  I  think  he  ought  to  come  up 
here,  if  he  can," 

"The  more  the  merrier,"  said  Mr.  Magee,  re 
flecting  cheerfully  that  the  Bentley s  were  in  Flor 
ida  at  last  accounts. 

"Come,  mamma,"  said  Miss  Norton,  rising, 
"let's  go  up  and  pick  out  a  suite.  There's  one  I 
used  to  have  a  few  years  ago — you  can  see  the? 
hermit's  shack  from  the  windows.  By  the  way, 
Mr.  Magee,  will  you  send  Mr.  Peters  up  to  us? 
He  may  be  able  to  help  us  get  settled." 

"Ahem,"  muttered  Mr.  Magee,  "I— I'll  have  a 


HE  CASTS  A  SHADOW  BEFORE       99 

talk  with  Peters.  To  be  quite  frank,  I  anticipate 
trouble.  You  see,  the  Hermit  of  Baldpate  doesn't 
approve  pf  women — " 

"Don't  approve  of  women,"  cried  Mrs.  Norton, 
her  green  eyes  flashing.  "Why  not,  I'd  like  to 
know?" 

"My  dear  madam,"  responded  Mr.  Magee, 
"only  echo  answers,  and  it  but  vacuously  repeats, 
'Why  not?'.  That,  however,  is  the  situation. 
Mr.  Peters  loathes  the  sex.  I  imagine  that,  until 
to-day,  he  was  not  particularly  happy  in  the  ex 
amples  of  it  he  encountered.  Why,  he  has  even 
gone  so  far  as  to  undertake  a  book  attributing 
all  the  trouble  of  the  world  to  woman." 

"The  idiot !"  cried  Mrs.  Norton. 

"Delicious !"  laughed  the  girl. 

"I  shall  ask  Peters  to  serve  you,"  said  Magee. 
'*!  shall  appeal  to  his  gallant  side.  But  I  must 
proceed  gently.  This  is  his  first  day  as  our  cook, 
and  you  know  how  necessary  a  good  first  impres 
sion  is  with  a  new  cook.  I'll  appeal  to  his  better 
nature." 

"Don't  do  it,"  cried  the  girl.  "Don't  empha 
size  us  to  him  in  any  way,  or  he  may  exercise  his 


ioo  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

right  as  cook  and  leave.  Just  ignore  us.  We'll 
play  at  being  our  own  bell-boys." 

"Ignore  you,"  cried  Mr.  Magee.  "What  Her 
culean  tasks  you  set.  I'm  not  equal  to  that  one." 
He  picked  up  their  traveling-bags  and  led  the  way 
up-stairs.  "I'm  something  of  a  bell-boy  myself, 
when  roused,"  he  said. 

The  girl  selected  suite  seventeen,  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  corridor  from  Magee's  apartments. 
"It's  the  very  one  I  used  to  have,  years  and  years 
ago — at  least  two  or  three  years  ago,"  she  said. 
"Isn't  it  stupid?  All  the  furniture  in  a  heap." 

"And  cold,"  said  Mrs.  Norton.  "My  land,  I 
wish  I  was  back  by  my  own  fire." 

"I'll  make  you  regret  your  words,  Mrs.  Nor 
ton,"  cried  Magee.  He  threw  up  the  windows, 
pulled  off  his  coat,  and  set  to  work  on  the  furni 
ture.  The  girl  bustled  about,  lightening  his  work 
by  her  smile.  Mrs.  Norton  managed  to  get  con 
sistently  in  the  way.  When  he  had  the  furniture 
distributed,  he  procured  logs  and  tried  his  hand 
at  a  fire.  Then  he  stood,  his  black  hair  disheveled, 
his  hands  soiled,  but  his  heart  very  gay,  before 
the  girl  of  the  station. 


HE  CASTS  A  SHADOW  WORE     *oi 

"I  hope  you  don't  expect  a  tip,"  she  said,  laugh 
ing. 

"I  do,"  he  said,  coming  closer,  and  speaking 
in  a  voice  that  was  not  for  the  ear  of  the  chap 
eron.  "I  want  a  tip  on  this— do  you  really  act  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  steadily. 

"Once,"  she  said,  "when  I  was  sixteen,  I  ap 
peared  in  an  amateur  play  at  school.  It  was  my 
first  and  last  appearance  on  the  stage." 

"Thanks,  lady,"  remarked  Mr.  Magee  in  imi 
tation  of  the  bell-boy  he  was  supposed  to  be.  He 
sought  number  seven.  There  he  made  himself 
again  presentable,  after  which  he  descended  to 
the  office. 

Mr.  Bland  sat  reading  the  New  York  paper 
before  the  fire.  From  the  little  card-room  and 
the  parlor,  the  two  rooms  to  the  right  and  left 
of  the  hotel's  front  door,  Quimby  had  brought 
forth  extra  chairs.  He  stood  now  by  the  large 
chair  that  held  Professor  Bolton,  engaged  in  con 
versation  with  that  gentleman. 

"Yes,"  he  was  saying,  "I  lived  three  years  i» 
Reuton  and  five  years  in  New  York.  It  took  me 
eight  years — eight  years  to  realize  the  truth." 


702  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"I  heard  about  it  from  John  Bentley,"  the  pro 
fessor  said  gently. 

"He's  been  pretty  kind  to  me,  Mr.  Bentley 
has,"  replied  Quimby.  "When  the  money  was 
all  gone,  he  offered  me  this  job.  Once  the  Quim- 
bys  owned  most  of  the  land  around  Baldpate 
Mountain.  It  all  went  in  those  eight  years.  To 
think  that  it  took  all  those  years  for  me  to  find 
it  out" 

"If  I'm  not  impertinent,  Quimby,"  put  in  Ma- 
gee,  "to  find  what  out?" 

"That  what  I  wanted,  the  railroad  men  didn't 
want,"  replied  Quimby  bitterly,  "and  that  was — 
the  safety  of  the  public.  You  see,  I  invented  a 
new  rail  joint,  one  that  was  a  great  improvement 
on  the  old  kind.  I  had  sort  of  an  idea,  when  I 
was  doing  it — an  idea  of  service  to  the  world 
— you  know.  God,  what  a  joke!  I  sold  all  the 
Quimby  lands,  and  went  to  Reuton,  and  then  to 
New  York,  to  place  it.  Not  one  of  the  railroad 
men  but  admitted  that  it  was  an  improvement, 
and  a  big  one — and  not  one  but  fought  like  mad 
to  keep  nie  from  getting  it  down  where  the  pub- 


HE  CASTS  A  SHADOW  BEFORE     103 

lie  would  see  it.  They  didn't  want  the  expense 
of  a  change." 

Mr.  Quimby  looked  out  at  the  sunlit  stretch  of 
snow. 

"Eight  years,"  he  repeated,  "I  fought  and 
pleaded.  No,  I  begged — that  was  the  word — I 
begged.  You'd  be  surprised  to  know  the  names 
of  some  of  the  men  who  kept  me  waiting  in  their 
private  offices,  and  sneered  at  me  over  their  pol 
ished  desks.  They  turned  me  down — every  one. 
Some  of  them  played  me — as  though  I'd  been  a 
fish.  They  referred  me  to  other  ends  of  the 
same  big  game,  laughing  in  their  sleeves,  I  guess, 
at  the  knowledge  of  how  hopeless  it  was.  Oh, 
they  made  a  fine  fool  of  me." 

"You  might  have  put  down  some  of  your  joints 
at  your  own  expense,"  suggested  the  professor. 

"Didn't  I  try?"  cried  Quimby.  "Do  you  think 
they'd  let  me?  No,  the  public  might  see  them 
and  demand  them  everywhere.  Once,  I  thought 
I  had  convinced  somebody.  It  was  down  in 
Reuton — the  Suburban  Railway."  There  was  a 
rustle  as  Mr.  Bland  let  his  paper  fall  to  the  fioon 


104  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"Old  Henry  Thornhill  was  president  of  the  road 
• — he  is  yet,  I  guess — but  young  Hayden  and  a 
fellow  named  David  Kendrick  were  running  it. 
Kendrick  was  on  my  side — he  almost  had  Hay- 
den.  They  were  going  to  let  me  lay  a  stretch  of 
track  with  my  joints.  Then — something  hap 
pened.  Maybe  you  remember.  Kendrick  disap 
peared  in  the  night — he's  never  been  seen  since." 

"I  do  remember,"  said  the  professor  softly. 

"Hayden  turned  me  down/'  went  on  Quimby. 
"The  money  was  all  gone.  So  I  came  back  to 
Upper  Asquewan — caretaker  of  an  inn  that  over 
looks  the  property  my  father  owned — the  prop 
erty  I  squandered  for  a  chance  to  save  human 
lives.  It's  all  like  a  dream  now — those  eight 
years.  And  it  nearly  drives  me  mad,  sometimes, 
to  think  that  it  took  me  eight  years — eight  years 
to  find  it  out.  I'll  just  straighten  things  around 
a  bit" 

He  moved  away,  and  the  men  sat  in  silence  for 
a  time.  Then  the  professor  spoke  very  gently: 

"Poor  devil — to  have  had  his  dream  of  service 
• — and  then  grow  old  on  Baldpate." 

The  two  joined  Mr.  Bland  by  the  fire.     Mr, 


HE  CASTS  A  SHADOW  BEFORE      105 

Magee  had  put  from  his  mind  all  intention  of 
work.  The  maze  of  events  through  which  he 
wandered  held  him  bewildered  and  enthralled. 
He  looked  at  the  haberdasher  and  the  university 
scholar  and  asked  himself  if  they  were  real,  or 
if  he  was  still  asleep  in  a  room  on  a  side  street 
in  New  York,  waiting  for  the  cheery  coming  of 
Geoffrey.  He  asked  himself  still  more  perplex 
edly  if  the  creature  that  came  toward  him  now 
through  the  dining-room  door  was  real — the 
hairy  Hermit  of  Baldpate,  like  a  figure  out  of 
some  old  print,  his  market  basket  on  his  arm 
again,  his  coat  buttoned  to  the  chin. 

"Well,  everything's  shipshape  in  the  kitchen," 
announced  the  hermit  cheerfully.  "I  couldn't  go 
without  seeing  to  that.  I  wish  you  the  best  of 
luck,  gentlemen — and  good-by." 

"Good-by?"  cried  the  professor. 

"By  the  gods,  he's  leaving  us,"  almost  wept 
Mr.  Bland. 

"It  can't  be,"  said  Mr.  Magee. 

"It  has  to  be,"  said  the  Hermit  of  Baldpate, 
solemnly  shaking  his  head.  "I'd  like  to  stay  with 
you,  and  I  would  of,  if  they  hadn't  come.  But 


io6     SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

here  they  are — and  when  women  come  in  the 
door,  I  fly  out  of  the  window,  as  the  saying  is." 

"But,  Peters/'  pleaded  Magee,  "you're  not  go- 
4ng  to  leave  us  in  the  hole  like  this  ?" 

"Sorry,"  replied  Peters,  "I  can  please  men, 
but  I  can't  please  women.  I  tried  to  please  one 
once — but  let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead.  I  live 
on  Baldpate  in  a  shack  to  escape  the  sex,  and  it 
wouldn't  be  consistent  for  me  to  stay  here  now. 
I  got  to  go.  I  hate  to,  like  a  dog,  but  I  got  to." 

"Peters,"  said  Mr.  Magee,  "I'm  surprised. 
After  giving  your  word  to  stay !  And  who  knows 
— you  may  be  able  to  gather  valuable  data  for 
your  book.  Stick  around.  These  women  won't 
bother  you.  I'll  make  them  promise  never  to 
ask  about  the  love-affair  you  didn't  have — never 
even  to  come  near  you.  And  we'll  pay  you  be 
yond  the  dreams  of  avarice  of  a  Broadway  chef. 
Won't  we,  gentlemen?" 

The  others  nodded.  Mr.  Peters  visibly  weak 
ened. 

"Well—"  he  began.  "I—"  His  eyes  were  on 
the  stair.  Mr.  Magee  also  looked  in  that  direc 
tion  and  saw  the  girl  of  the  station  smiling  down. 


HE  CASTS  A  SHADOW  BEFORE      107 

She  no  longer  wore  coat  and  hat,  and  the  absence 
of  the  latter  revealed  a  glory  of  golden  hair 
that  became  instantly  a  rival  to  the  sunshine  in 
that  drear  bare  room. 

"No,  Peters,"  she  said,  "y©u  mustn't  go.  We 
couldn't  permit  it.  Mamma  and  I  will  go." 

She  continued  to  smile  at  the  obviously  daz- 
zled  Peters.  Suddenly  he  spoke  in  a  determined 
tone: 

-No— don't  do  that  I'll  stay."  Then  he 
turned  to  Magee,  and  continued  for  that  gentle 
man's  ear  alone:  "Dog-gone  it,  we're  all  alike. 
We  resolve  and  resolve,  and  then  one  of  them 
looks  at  us,  and  it's  all  forgot.  I  had  a  friend 
who  advertised  for  a  wife,  leastways,  he  was  a 
friend  until  he  advertised.  He  got  ninety-two  re 
plies,  seventy  of  'em  from  married  men  advising 
against  the  step.  Tm  cured,'  he  says  to  me.  'Not 
for  me.'  Did  he  keep  his  word?  No.  A  week 
after  he  married  a  widow  just  to  see  if  what  the 
seventy  said  was  true.  I'm  mortal.  I  hang 
around  the  buzz-saw.  If  you  give  me  a  little 
money,  I'll  go  down  to  the  village  and  buy  the 
provisions  for  lunch." 


io8     SEVEN    KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

Gleefully  Mr.  Magee  started  the  hermit  on  his 
way,  and  then  went  over  to  where  the  girl  stood 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"I  promised  him,"  he  told  her,  "you'd  ask  no 
questions  regarding  his  broken  heart.  It  seems  he 
hasn't  any." 

"That's  horrid  of  him,  isn't  it?"  she  smiled. 
"Every  good  hermit  is  equipped  with  a  broken 
heart.  I  certainly  shan't  bother  him.  I  came 
down  to  get  some  water." 

They  went  together  to  the  kitchen,  found  a 
pail,  and  filled  it  with  icy  water  from  the  pump 
at  the  rear  of  the  inn.  Inside  once  more,  Mr. 
Magee  remarked  thoughtfully: 

"Who  would  have  guessed  a  week  ago  that  to 
day  I  would  be  climbing  the  broad  staircase  of  a 
summer  hotel  carrying  a  pail  of  water  for  a  lady 
fair?" 

They  paused  on  the  landing. 

"There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth, 
Horatio,"  smiled  the  girl,"than  are  dreamed  of, 
even  by  novelists."  Mr.  Magee  started.  Had 
she  recognized  him  as  the  Magee  of  light  fiction? 
It  seemed  hardly  likely;  they  read  his  books,  but 


HE  CASTS  A  SHADOW  BEFORE      109 

they  rarely  remembered  his  name.  Her  face 
went  suddenly  grave.  She  came  closer.  "I  can't 
help  wondering,"  she  said,  "which  side  you  are 
on?" 

"Which  side  of  what?"  asked  Magee. 

"Why,  of  this,"  she  answered,  waving  her  hand 
toward  the  office  below. 

"I  don't  understand,"  objected  Mr.  Magee. 

"Let's  not  be  silly,"  she  replied.  "You  know 
what  brought  me  here.  I  know  what  brought 
you.  There  are  three  sides,  and  only  one  is  hon 
est.  I  hope,  so  very  much,  that  you  are  on  that 
side." 

"Upon  my  word — "  began  Magee. 

"Will  it  interest  you  to  know,"  she  continued, 
"I  saw  the  big  mayor  of  Reuton  in  the  village 
this  morning?  With  him  was  his  shadow,  Lou 
Max.  Let's  see — you  had  the  first  key,  Mr. 
Bland  the  second,  the  professor  the  third,  and  I 
had  the  fourth.  The  mayor  has  the  fifth  key,  of 
course.  He'll  be  here  soon." 

"The  mayor,"  gasped  Mr.  Magee.  "Really,  I 
haven't  the  slightest  idea  what  you  mean.  I'm 
here  to  work — " 


no     SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

"Very  well,"  said  the  girl  coldly,  "if  you  wish 
it  that  way."  They  came  to  the  door  of  seven 
teen,  and  she  took  the  pail  from  Mr.  Magee's 
hand.  "Thanks." 

"  'Where  are  you  going,  my  pretty  maid  ?' ' 
asked  Magee,  indicating  the  pail. 

"  *  "I'll  see  you  at  luncheon,  sir,"  she  said/  "  re 
sponded  Miss  Norton,  and  the  door  of  seventeen 
slammed  shut. 

Mr.  Magee  returned  to  number  seven,  and 
thoughtfully  stirred  the  fire.  The  tangle  pf  events 
bade  fair  to  swamp  him. 

"The  mayor  of  Reuton,"  he  mused,  "has  the 
fifth  key.  What  in  the  name  of  common  sense 
is  going  on?  It's  too  much  even  for  melodra 
matic  me."  He  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  "Any 
how,  I  like  her  eyes,"  he  said.  "And  I  shouldn't 
want  to  be  quoted  as  disapproving  of  her  hair, 
either.  I'm  on  her  side,  whichever  it  may  be." 


CHAPTER  VI 

GHOSTS  OF  THE  SUMMER  CROWD 

"T  WONDER,"  Miss  Norton  smiled  up  into 
J[  Mr.  Magee's  face,  "if  you  ever  watched  the 
people  at  a  summer  hotel  get  set  on  their  mark  for 
the  sprint  through  the  dining-room  door  ?" 

"No,"  answered  Magee,  "but  I  have  visited  the 
Zoo  at  meal-time.    They  tell  me  it  is  much  the 


same." 


"A  brutal  comparison,"  said  the  girl.  "But 
just  the  same  I'm  sure  that  the  head  waiter  who 
opens  the  door  here  at  Baldpate  must  feel  much 
the  same  at  the  moment  as  the  keeper  who  prof 
fers  the  raw  meat  on  the  end  of  the  pitchfork. 
He  faces  such  a  wild  determined  mob.  The 
front  rank  is  made  up  of  hard-faced  women 
worn  out  by  veranda  gossip.  Usually  some  stiff 
old  dowager  crosses  the  tape  first.  I  was  thinking 
that  perhaps  we  resembled  that  crowd  in  the  eyes 
of  Mr.  Peters  now." 

in 


ii2     SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

It  was  past  one  o'clock,  and  Mr.  Magee  with 
his  four  mysterious  companions  stood  before  the 
fire  in  the  office,  each  with  an  eager  eye  out  for 
the  progress  of  the  hermit,  who  was  preparing 
the  table  beside  them.  Through  the  kindness  of 
Quimby,  the  board  was  resplendent  with  snowy 
linen. 

"We  may  seem  over-eager,"  commented  Pro 
fessor  Bolton.  "I  have  no  doubt  we  do.  It  is 
only  natural.  With  nothing  to  look  forward  to 
but  the  next  meal,  the  human  animal  attaches  a 
preposterous  importance  to  his  feeding.  We  are 
in  the  same  case  as  the  summer  guests — " 

"Are  we?"  interrupted  Mr.  Magee.  "Have  we 
nothing  but  the  next  meal  to  look  forward  to  ?  I 
think  not.  I  haven't.  I've  come  to  value  too 
highly  the  capacity  for  excitement  of  Baldpate 
Inn  in  December.  I  look  forward  to  startling 
things.  I  expect,  before  the  day  is  out,  at  least 
two  gold-laced  kings,  an  exiled  poet,  and  a  lord 
mayor,  all  armed  with  keys  to  Baldpate  Inn  and 
sto-ties  strange  and  unconvincing." 

'Your    adventures    of    the    last    twenty- four 
hours,"  remarked  the  professor,  smiling  wanly, 


THE    SUMMER   CROWD  113 

"have  led  you  to  expect  too  much.  I  have  made 
inquiries  of  Quimby.  There  are,  aside  from  his 
own,  but  seven  keys  in  all  to  the  various  doors  of 
Baldpate  Inn.  Four  are  here  represented.  It  is 
hardly  likely  that  the  other  three  will  send  dele 
gates,  and  if  they  should,  you  have  but  a 
slim  chance  for  kings  and  poets.  Even  Baldpate's 
capacity  for  excitement,  you  see,  is  limited  by  the 
number  of  little  steel  keys  which  open  its  portals 
to  exiles  from  the  outside  world.  I  am  reminded 
of  the  words  of  the  philosopher — " 

"Well,  Peters,  old  top,"  broke  in  Mr.  Bland 
in  robust  tones,  "isn't  she  nearly  off  the  fire?" 

"Now  see  here,"  said  the  hermit,  setting  down 
the  armful  of  dishes  with  which  he  had  entered 
the  office,  "I  can't  be  hurried.  I'm  all  upset,  as  it 
is.  I  can't  cook  to  please  women — I  don't  pretend 
to.  I  have  to  take  all  sorts  of  precautions  with 
this  lunch.  Without  meaning  to  be  impolite,  but 
just  because  of  a  passion  for  cold  facts,  I  may  say 
that  women  are  faultfinding." 

"I'm  sure,"  said  Miss  Norton  sweetly,  "that 
I  shall  consider  your  luncheon  perfect." 

"They  get  more  faultfinding  as  they  get  old- 


114  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

er,"  replied  Mr.  Peters  ungallantly,  glancing  at 
the  other  woman. 

Mrs.  Norton  glared. 

"Meaning  me,  I  suppose,"  she  rasped.  "Well, 
don't  worry.  I  ain't  going  to  find  anything 
wrong." 

"I  ain't  asking  the  impossible,"  responded  Mr. 
Peters.  "I  ain't  asking  you  not  to  find  anything 
wrong.  I'm  just  asking  you  not  to  mention  it 
when  you  do."  He  retired  to  the  kitchen. 

Mrs.  Norton  caressed  her  puffs  lovingly. 

"What  that  man  needs,"  she  said,  "is  a 
woman's  guiding  hand.  He's  lived  alone  too  long. 
I'd  like  to  have  charge  of  him  for  a  while.  Not 
that  I  wouldn't  be  kind — but  I'd  be  firm.  If  poor 
Norton  was  alive  to-day  he'd  testify  that  I  was 
always  kindness  itself.  But  I  insisted  on  his  liv 
ing  up  to  his  promises.  When  I  was  a  girl  I  was 
mighty  popular.  I  had  a  lot  of  admirers." 

"No  one  could  possibly  doubt  that/'  Mr.  Magee 
assured  her. 

"Then  Norton  came  along,"  she  went  on,  re 
warding  Magee  with  a  smile,  "and  said  he  wanted 
to  make  me  happy.  So  I  thought  I'd  let  him  try. 


THE    SUMMER   CROWD  115 

He  was  a  splendid  man,  but  there's  no  denying 
that  in  the  years  we  were  married  he  sometimes 
forgot  what  he  started  out  to  do.  I  always 
jbrought  him  up  sharp.  'Your  great  desire/  I  told 
him,  'is  to  make  me  happy.  I'd  keep  on  the  job 
if  I  was  you!'  And  he  did,  to  the  day  of  his 
death.  A  perfectly  lovely  man,  though  careless 
in  money  matters.  If  he  hadn't  had  that  failing 
I  wouldn't  be—" 

Miss  Norton,  her  cheeks  flushed,  broke  in  hur 
riedly. 

"Mamma,  these  gentlemen  can't  be  at  all  inter 
ested."  Deftly  she  turned  the  conversation  to 
generalities. 

Mr.  Peters  at  last  seated  the  winter  guests  of 
Baldpate  Inn,  and  opened  his  luncheon  with  a 
soup  which  he  claimed  to  have  wrested  from  a 
can.  This  news  drew  from  Professor  Bolton  a 
learned  discourse  on  the  tinned  aids  to  the  hermit 
of  to-day.  He  pictured  the  seeker  for  solitude 
•  setting  out  for  a  desert  isle,  with  canned  foods 
for  his  body  and  canned  music  for  his  soul.  "Rob 
inson  Crusoe,"  he  said,  "should  be  rewritten 
with  a  can-opener  in  the  leading  role."  Mrs. 


n6     SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

Norton  gave  the  talk  a  more  practical  turn  by 
bringing  up  the  topic  of  ptomaine  poisoning. 

While  the  conversation  drifted  on,  Mr.  Magee 
pondered  in  silence  the  weird  mesh  in  which  he 
had  become  involved.  What  did  it  all  mean? 
What  brought  these  people  to  Baldpate  Christmas 
week?  His  eyes  sought  the  great  safe  back  of  the 
desk,  and  stayed  there  a  long  time.  In  that  safe, 
he  was  sure,  lay  the  answer  to  this  preposterous 
riddle.  When  his  thoughts  came  back  to  the  table 
he  iound  Mr.  Bland  eying  him  narrowly.  There 
wa?  a  troubled  look  on  the  haberdasher's  lean 
face  that  could  never  be  ascribed  to  the  cruelty 
of  Arabella. 

The  luncheon  over,  Miss  Norton  and  her 
mother  prepared  to  ascend  to  their  rooms.  Mr. 
Magee  maneuvered  so  as  to  meet  the  girl  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs. 

"Won't  you  come  back,"  he  whispered  softly, 
"and  explain  things  to  a  poor  hermiv  who  is  com 
pletely  at  sea  ?" 

"What  things?"  she  asked. 

"What  it  all  means,"  he  whispered.    "Why  you 


THE    SUMMER    CROWD  117 

wept  in  the  station,  why  you  invented  the  story 
of  the  actress,  why  you  came  here  to  brighten 
my  drab  exile — what  this  whole  comedy  of  Bald- 
pate  Inn  amounts  to,  anyhow  ?  I  assure  you  I  am 
as  innocent  of  understanding  it  as  is  the  czar  of 
Russia  on  his  golden  throne." 

She  only  looked  at  him  with  unbelieving  eyes. 

"You  can  hardly  expect  me  to  credit  that,"  she 
said.  "I  must  go  up  now  and  read  mamma  into 
the  pleasant  land  of  thin  girlish  figures  that  is 
her  afternoon  siesta.  I  may  come  back  and  talk 
to  you  after  a  while,  but  I  don't  promise  to  ex 
plain." 

"Come  back,"  pleaded  Mr.  Magee.  "That  is 
all  I  ask." 

"A  tiny  boon,"  she  smiled.    "I  grant  it." 

She  followed  the  generous  figure  of  the  other 
woman  up  the  stair  and,  casting  back  a  dazzling 
smile  from  the  landing,  disappeared.  Mr.  Magee 
turned  to  find  Professor  Bolton  discoursing  to 
Mr.  Bland  on  some  aspects  of  the  Pagan  Renais 
sance.  Mr.  Bland's  face  was  pained. 

"That's  great  stuff,  Professor,"  he  said,  "and 


ii8  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

usually  I'd  like  it.  But  just  now — I  don't  seem 
in  the  mood,  somehow.  Would  you  mind  saving 
it  forme  till  later?" 

"Certainly,"  sighed  the  professor.     Mr.  Bland 
slouched  into  the  depths  of  his  chair.     Professor' 
Bolton  turned  his  disappointed  face  ceilingward. 
Laughing,    Mr.   Magee   sought  the   solitude  of ' 
number  seven. 

"After  all,  I'm  here  to  work/'  he  told  himself. 
"Alarms  and  excursions  and  blue  eyes  must  not 
turn  me  from  my  task.  Let's  see — what  was  my 
task?  A  deep  heart-searching  novel,  a  novel  de 
void  of  rabid  melodrama.  It  becomes  more  diffi 
cult  every  minute  here  at  Baldpate  Inn.  But  that 
should  only  add  more  zest  to  the  struggle.  I 
devote  the  next  two  hours  to  thought." 

He  pulled  his  chair  up  before  the  blazing 
hearth,  and  gazed  into  the  red  depths.  But  his 
thoughts  refused  to  turn  to  the  masterpiece  that 

was  to  be  born  on  Baldpate.    They  roamed  to  far- 

i 

off  Broadway ;  they  strolled  with  Helen  Faulkner 
— the  girl  he  meant  to  marry  if  he  ever  got  round 
to  it — along  dignified  Fifth  Avenue.  Then  joy 
ously  they  trooped  to  a  far  more  alluring,  more 


* 


THE   SUMMER   CROWD          119 

human  girl,  who  pressed  a  bit  of  cambric  to  her 
face  in  a  railway  station,  while  a  ginger-haired 
agent  peeped  through  the  bars.  How  ridiculously 
small  that  bit  of  cambric  had  been  to  hide  so  much 
beauty.  Soon  Mr.  Magee's  thoughts  were  climbing 
Baldpate  Mountain,  there  to  wander  in  a  mystic 
maze  of  ghostly  figures  which  appeared  from  the 
shadows,  holding  aloft  in  triumph  gigantic  keys. 
Mr.  Magee  had  slept  but  little  the  night  before. 
The  quick  December  dusk  filled  number  seven 
when  he  awoke  with  a  start. 

He  remembered  that  he  had  asked  the  girl  to 
come  back  to  the  office,  and  berated  himself  to 
think  that  probably  she  had  done  so  only  to  find 
that  he  was  not  there.  Hastily  straightening  his 
tie,  and  dashing  the  traces  of  sleep  from  his  eyes 
with  the  aid  of  cold  water,  he  ran  down-stairs. 

The  great  bare  room  was  in  darkness  save  for 
the  faint  red  of  the  fire.  Before  the  fireplace  sat 
'the  girl  of  the  station,  her  hair  gleaming  with  a 
new  splendor  in  that  light.  She  looked  in  mock 
eproval  at  Mr.  Magee. 

"For  shame,"  she  said,  "to  be  late  at  the  tryst- 
ing-place." 


120  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"A  thousand  pardons,"  Mr.  Magee  replied.  "I 
fell  asleep  and  dreamed  of  a  girl  who  wept  in  a 
railway  station — and  she  was  so  altogether 
charming  I  could  not  tear  myself  away." 

"I  fear/'  she  laughed,  "you  are  old  in  the  ways 
of  the  world.  A  passion  for  sleep  seems  to  have 
seized  the  hermits.  The  professor  has  gone  to  his 
room  for  that  purpose.  And  Mr.  Bland,  his 
broken  heart  forgot,  slumbers  over  there."  She 
pointed  to  the  haberdasher  inert  in  a  big  chair 
drawn  up  near  the  clerk's  desk.  "Only  you  and 
I  in  all  the  world  awake." 

"Pretty  lonesome,  isn't  it?"  Mr.  Magee  glanced 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  shadows  that  crept  in 
on  them. 

"I  was  finding  it  very  busy  when  you  came," 
she  answered.  "You  see,  I  have  known  the  inn 
when  it  was  gay  with  summer  people,  and  as  I 
sat  here  by  the  fire  I  pretended  I  saw  the  ghosts 
of  a  lot  of  the  people  I  knew  flitting  about  in  the 
dusk.  The  rocking-chair  fleet  sailed  by — " 

"The  what?" 

"Black  flag  flying,  decks  cleared  for  action — I 
saw  the  rocking-chair  fleet  go  by."  She  smiled 


THE    SUMMER   CROWD  121 

faintly.  "We  always  called  them  that.  Bitter, 
unkind  old  women  who  sat  hour  after  hour  on  the 
veranda,  and  rocked  and  gossiped,  and  gossiped 
and  rocked.  All  the  old  women  in  the  world 
seem  to  gather  at  summer  hotels.  And,  oh,  the 
cruel  mouths  the  fleet  had — just  thin  lines  of 
mouths — I  used  to  look  at  them  and  wonder  if 
any  one  had  ever  kissed  them." 

The  girl's  eyes  were  very  large  and  tender  in 
the  firelight. 

"And  I  saw  some  poor  little  ghosts  weeping  in 
a  corner,"  she  went  on ;  "a  few  that  the  fleet  had 
run  down  and  sunk  in  the  sea  of  gossip.  A  little 
ghost  whose  mother  had  not  been  all  she  should 
have  been,  and  the  fleet  found  it  out,  and  rocked, 
and  whispered,  and  she  went  away.  And  a  few 
who  were  poor — the  most  terrible  of  sins — to 
them  the  fleet  showed  no  mercy.  And  a  fine 
proud  girl,  Myra  Thornhill,  who  was  engaged  to 
a  man  named  Kendrick,  and  who  never  dared 
come  here  again  after  Kendrick  suddenly  disap 
peared,  because  of  the  whispered  dishonors  the 
fleet  heaped  upon  his  head/' 

"What  wicked  women !"  said  Magee. 


122  *  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"The  wickedest  women  in  the  world,"  answered 
the  girl.  "But  every  summer  resort  must  have  its 
(fleet  I  doubt  if  any  other  ever  had  its  admiral, 
though — and  that  makes  Baldpate  supreme." 

"Its  admiral?" 

"Yes.  He  isn't  really  that,  I  imagine — sort  of 
a  vice,  or  an  assistant,  or  whatever  it  is,  long  ago 
retired  from  the  navy.  Every  summer  he  comes 
here,  and  the  place  revolves  about  him.  It's  all  so 
funny.  I  wonder  if  any  other  crowd  attains  such 
heights  of  snobbishness  as  that  at  a  summer 
resort?  It's  the  admiral  this,  and  the  admiral 
that,  from  the  moment  he  enters  the  door.  Nearly 
every  day  the  manager  of  Baldpate  has  a  new 
picture  of  the  admiral  taken,  and  hangs  it  here  in 
the  hotel.  Fll  show  them  to  you  when  it's  light. 
There's  one  over  there  by  the  desk,  of  the  admiral 
and  the  manager  together,  and  the  manager  has 
thrown  his  arm  carelessly  over  the  admiral's 
shoulder  with  'See  how  well  I  know  him'  written 
all  over  his  stupid  face.  Oh,  what  snobs  they 
are!" 

"And  the  fleet?"  asked  Mr.  Magee. 

"Worships  him.    They  fish  all  day  for  a  smile 


THE   SUMMER   CROWD          123 

from  him.  They  keep  track  of  his  goings  and 
comings,  and  when  he  is  in  the  card-room  playing 
his  silly  old  game  of  solitaire,  they  run  down  their 
victims  in  subdued  tones  so  as  not  to  disturb 
him." 

"What  an  interesting  place,"  said  Mr.  Magee, 
"I  must  visit  Baldpate  next  summer.  Shall — 
shall  you  be  here  ?" 

"It's  so  amusing/'  she  smiled,  ignoring  the 
question.  "You'll  enjoy  it.  And  it  isn't  all  fleet 
and  admiral.  There's  happiness,  and  romance, 
and  whispering  on  the  stairs.  At  night,  when  the 
lights  are  all  blazing,  and  the  band  is  playing 
waltzes  in  the  casino,  and  somebody  is  giving  a 
dinner  in  the  grill-room,  and  the  girls  flit  about 
in  the  shadows  looking  too  sweet  for  words — well, 
Baldpate  Inn  is  a  rather  entrancing  spot.  I  re 
member  those  nights  very  often  now." 

Mr.  Magee  leaned  closer.  The  flicker  of  the 
firelight  on  her  delicate  face,  he  decided,  was  an 
excellent  effect. 

"I  can  well  believe  you  do  remember  them," 
he  said.  "And  it's  no  effort  at  all  to  me  to  pic 
ture  you  as  one  of  those  who  flitted  through  the 


124  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

shadows — too  sweet  for  words.  I  can  see  you 
the  heroine  of  whispering  scenes  on  the  stair.  I 
can  see  you  walking  with  a  dazzled  happy  man 
on  the  mountain  in  the  moonlight.  Many  men 
have  loved  you." 

"Are  you  reading  my  palm?"  she  asked,  laugh 
ing. 

"No — your  face,"  answered  Mr.  Magee. 
"Many  men  have  loved  you,  for  very  few  men  are 
blind.  I  am  sorry  I  was  not  the  man  on  the  stair, 
or  on  the  mountain  in  the  moonlight.  Who  knows 
— I  might  have  been  the  favored  one  for  my 
single  summer  of  joy." 

"The  autumn  always  came,"  smiled  the  girl. 

"It  would  never  have  come  for  me,"  he  an 
swered.  "Won't  you  believe  me  when  I  say  that 
I  have  no  part  in  this  strange  drama  that  is  going 
on  at  Baldpate  ?  Won't  you  credit  it  when  I  say 
that  I  have  no  idea  why  you  and  the  professor 
and  Mr.  Bland  are  here — nor  why  the  Mayor  of 
Reuton  has  the  fifth  key?  Won't  you  tell  me 
what  it  all  means  ?" 

"I  mustn't,"  she  replied,  shaking  her  head.    "I 


THE   SUMMER   CROWD          125 

can  trust  no  one — not  even  you.  I  mustn't  believe 
that  you  don't  know — it's  preposterous.  I  must 
say  over  and  over — even  he  is  simply — will  you 
pardon  me — flirting,  trying  to  learn  what  he  can 
learn.  I  must." 

"You  can't  even  tell  me  why  you  wept  in  the 
station  ?" 

"For  a  simple  silly  reason.  I  was  afraid.  I 
had  taken  up  a  task  too  big  for  me  by  far — 
taken  it  up  bravely  when  I  was  out  in  the  sunlight 
of  Reuton.  But  when  I  saw  Upper  Asquewan 
Falls,  and  the  dark  came,  and  that  dingy  station 
swallowed  me  up,  something  gave  way  inside  me 
and  I  felt  I  was  going  to  fail.  So — I  cried.  A 
woman's  way." 

"If  I  were  only  permitted  to  help — "  Mr.  Ma- 
gee  pleaded. 

"No — I  must  go  forward  alone.  I  can  trust 
no  one,  now.  Perhaps  things  will  change.  I 
hope  they  will." 

"Listen,"  said  Mr.  Magee.  "I  am  telling  you 
the  truth.  Perhaps  you  read  a  novel  called  The 
Lost  Limousine."  He  was  resolved  to  claim  its 


126  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

authorship,  tell  her  of  his  real  purpose  in  coming 
to  Baldpate,  and  urge  her  to  confide  in  him  re 
garding  the  odd  happenings  at  the  inn. 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl  before  he  could  continue, 
f  "I  did  read  it.  And  it  hurt  me.  It  was  so  terribly 
insincere.  The  man  had  talent  who  wrote  it,  but 
he  seemed  to  say:  'It's  all  a  great  big  joke.  I 
don't  believe  in  these  people  myself.  I've  just 
created  them  to  make  them  dance  for  you.  Don't 
be  fooled — it's  only  a  novel.'  I  don't  like  that  sort 
of  thing.  I  want  a  writer  really  to  mean  all  he 
says  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart." 

Mr.  Magee  bit  his  lip.  His  determination  to 
claim  the  authorship  of  The  Lost  Limousine  was 
quite  gone. 

"I  want  him  to  make  me  feel  with  his  people," 
the  girl  went  on  seriously.  "Perhaps  I  can  explain 
by  telling  you  of  something  that  happened  to  me 
once.  It  was  while  I  was  at  college.  There  was  a 
blind  girl  in  my  class  and  one  night  I  went  to  call 
on  her.  I  met  her  in  the  corridor  of  her  dormi 
tory.  Somebody  had  just  brought  her  back  from 
an  evening  lecture,  and  left  her  there.  She  un 
locked  her  door,  and  we  went  in.  It  was  pitch 


THE   SUMMER   CROWD 

dark  in  the  room — the  first  thing  I  thought  of 
was  a  light.  But  she — she  just  sat  down  and  be 
gan  to  talk.  She  had  forgot  to  light  the  gas." 

The  girl  paused,  her  eyes  very  wide,  and  it 
seemed  to  Mr.  Magee  that  she  shivered  slightly. 

"Can  you  imagine  it  ?"  she  asked.  "She  chatted 
on — quite  cheerfully  as  I  remember  it.  And  I — I 
stumbled  round  and  fell  into  a  chair,  cold  and 
trembly  and  sick  with  the  awful  horror  of  blind 
ness,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life.  I  thought  I 
had  imagined  before  what  it  was  to  be  blind — 
just  by  shutting  my  eyes  for  a  second.  But  as 
I  sat  there  in  the  blackness,  and  listened  to  that 
girl  chatter,  and  realized  that  it  had  never  oc 
curred  to  her  to  light  a  lamp — then  for  the  first 
time — I  knew — I  knew." 

Again  she  stopped,  and  Mr.  Magee,  looking  at 
her,  felt  what  he  had  never  experienced  before — 
a  thrill  at  a  woman's  near  presence. 

"That's  what  I  ask  of  a  writer,"  she  said,  "that 
he  make  me  feel  for  his  people  as  I  felt  for  that 
girl  that  night.  Am  I  asking  too  much  ?  It  need 
not  be  for  one  who  is  enmeshed  in  tragedy — it 
may  be  for  one  whose  heart  is  as  glad  as  a  May 


128  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

morning.  But  he  must  make  me  feel.  And  he 
can't  do  that  if  he  doesn't  feel  himself,  can  he?" 

William  Hallowell  Magee  actually  hung  his 
head. 

"He  can't/'  he  confessed  softly.  "You're  quite 
right  I  like  you  immensely — more  than  I  can 
say.  And  even  if  you  feel  you  can't  trust  me,  I 
want  you  to  know  that  I'm  on  your  side  in  what 
ever  happens  at  Baldpate  Inn.  You  have  only  to 
ask,  and  I  am  your  ally." 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered.  "I  may  be  very 
glad  to  ask.  I  shall  remember."  She  rose  and 
moved  toward  the  stairs.  "We  had  better  dis 
perse  now.  The  rocking-chair  fleet  will  get  us 
if  we  don't  watch  out."  Her  small  slipper  was  on 
the  first  step  of  the  stair,  when  they  heard  a  door 
slammed  shut,  and  the  sound  of  steps  on  the  bare 
floor  of  the  dining-room.  Then  a  husky  voice 
called  "Bland". 

Mr.  Magee  felt  his  hand  grasped  by  a  much 
smaller  one,  and  before  he  knew  it  he  had  been 
hurried  to  the  shadows  of  the  landing.  "The  fifth 
key,"  whispered  a  scared  little  voice  in  his  ear. 
And  then  he  felt  the  faint  brushing  of  finger-tips 


THE   SUMMER   CROWD          129 

across  his  lips.  A  mad  desire  seized  him  to  grasp 
those  fingers  and  hold  them  on  the  lips  they  had 
scarcely  touched.  But  the  impulse  was  lost  in  the 
thrill  of  seeing  the  dining-room  door  thrown  open 
and  a  great  bulk  of  a  man  cross  the  floor  of  the 
office  and  stand  beside  Eland's  chair.  At  his  side 
was  a  thin  waif  who  had  not  unjustly  been 
termed  the  mayor  of  Reuton's  shadow. 

"Asleep,"  bellowed  the  big  man.  "How's  this 
for  a  watch-dog,  Lou  ?" 

"Right  on  the  job,  ain't  he?"  sneered  the  thin 
one. 

Mr.  Bland  started  suddenly  from  slumber,  and 
looked  up  into  the  eyes  of  the  newcomers. 

"Hello,  Cargan,"  he  said.  "Hello,  Lou.  For 
the  love  of  heaven,  don't  shout  so.  The  place  is 
full  of  them." 

"Full  of  what?"  asked  the  mayor. 

"Of  spotters,  maybe — I  don't  know  what  they 
are.  There's  an  old  high-brow  and  a  fresh  young 
guy,  and  two  women." 

"People,"  gasped  the  mayor.    "People—here  ?" 

"Sure." 

"You're  asleep,  Bland." 


130  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"No  I'm  not,  Cargan,"  cried  the  haberdasher. 
"Look  around  for  yourself.  The  inn's  overrun 
with  them." 

Cargan  leaned  weakly  against  a  chair. 

"Well,  what  do  you  know  about  that,"  he  said. 
"And  they  kept  telling  me  Baldpate  Inn  was  the 
best  place — say,  this  is  one  on  Andy  Rutter.  Why 
didn't  you  get  it  out  and  beat  it?" 

"How  could  I?"  Mr.  Bland  asked.  "I  haven't 
got  the  combination.  The  safe  was  left  open  for 
me.  That  was  the  agreement  with  Rutter." 

"You  might  have  phoned  us  not  to  come,"  re 
marked  Lou,  with  an  uneasy  glance  around. 

Mr.  Cargan  hit  the  mantelpiece  with  his  huge 
fist. 

"By  heaven,  no,"  he  cried.  "I'll  lift  it  from 
under  their  very  noses.  I've  done  it  before — x 
can  do  it  now.  I  don't  care  who  they  are.  They 
can't  touch  me.  They  can't  touch  Jim  Cargan.  I 
ain't  afraid." 

Mr.  Magee,  on  the  landing,  whispered  into  his 
companion's  ear.  "I  think  I'll  go  down  and  greet 
our  guests."  He  felt  her  grasp  his  arm  suddenly, 
as  though  in  fear,  but  he  shook  off  her  hand  and 
^debonairly  descended  to  the  group  below.  , 


THE    SUMMER   CROWD  131 

"Good  evening,  gentlemen,"  he  said  suavely. 
"Welcome  to  Baldpate!  Please  don't  attempt  to 
explain — we're  fed  up  on  explanations  now.  You 
have  the  fifth  key,  of  course.  Welcome  to  our 
small  but  growing  circle." 

The  big  man  advanced  threateningly.  Mr. 
Magee  saw  that  his  face  was  very  red,  his  neck 
very  thick,  but  his  mouth  a  cute  little  cupid's  bow 
that  might  well  have  adorned  a  dainty  baby  in  the 
park. 

"Who  are  you?"  bellowed  the  mayor  of  Reu- 
ton  in  a  tone  meant  to  be  cowering. 

"I  forget,"  replied  Mr.  Magee  easily.  "Bland, 
who  am  I  to-day?  The  cast-off  lover  of  Arabella, 
the  fleeing  artist,  or  the  thief  of  portraits  from  a 
New  York  millionaire's  home  ?  Really,  it  doesn't 
matter.  We  shift  our  stories  from  time  to  time. 
As  the  first  of  the  Baldpate  hermits,  however,  it 
is  my  duty  to  welcome  you,  which  I  hereby  do." 

The  mayor  pointed  dramatically  to  the  stair. 

"I  give  you  fifteen  minutes,"  he  roared,  "to 
pack  up  and  get  out.  I  don't  want  you  here.  Un 
derstand?" 

To  Cargan's  side  came  the  slinking  figure  of 
Lou  Max.  His  face  was  the  withered  yellow  of 


132  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

an  old  lemon;  his  garb  suggested  shop-windows 
on  dirty  side  streets;  unpleasant  eyes  shifted  be 
hind  a  pair  of  gold-rimmed  glasses.  His  attitude 
was  that  of  the  dog  who  crouches  by  its  master. 

"Clear  out,"  he  snarled. 

"By  no  means,"  replied  Magee,  looking  the 
mayor  squarely  in  the  eye.  "I  was  here  first. 
I'm  here  to  stay.  Put  me  out,  will  you?  Well, 
perhaps,  after  a  fight.  But  I'd  be  back  in  an  hour, 
and  with  me  whatever  police  Upper  Asquewan 
Falls  owns  to." 

He  saw  that  the  opposing  force  wavered  at  this. 

"I  want  no  trouble,  gentlemen,"  he  went  on. 
"Believe  me,  I  shall  be  happy  to  have  your  com 
pany  to  dinner.  Your  command  that  I  withdraw 
is  ill-timed,  not  to  say  ill-natured  and  impolite. 
Let  us  all  forget  it." 

The  mayor  of  Reuton  turned  away,  and  his 
dog  slid  into  the  shadows. 

"Have  I  your  promise  to  stay  to  dinner?"  went 
on  Magee.  No  answer  came  from  the  trio  in  the 
dusk.  "Silence  gives  consent,"  he  added  gaily. 
"You  must  excuse  me  while  I  dress.  Bland,  will 
you  inform  Mr.  Peters  that  we  are  to  have  com- 


THE   SUMMER   CROWD          133 

pany  to  dinner  ?  Handle  him  gently.  Emphasize 
the  fact  that  our  guests  are  men." 

He  ran  up  the  stairs.  At  the  top  of  the  second 
flight  he  met  the  girl,  and  her  eyes,  he  thought, 
shone  in  the  dark. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad,"  she  whispered. 

"Glad  of  what?"  asked  Magee. 

"That  you  are  not  on  their  side,"  she  answered. 

Mr.  Magee  paused  at  the  door  of  number 
seven. 

"I  should  say  not,"  he  remarked.  "Whatever 
it's  all  about,  I  should  say  not.  Put  on  your  pret 
tiest  gown,  my  lady.  I've  invited  the  mayor  to 
dinner." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  MAYOR  BEGINS  A  VIGIL 

ONE  summer  evening,  in  dim  dead  days  gone 
by,  an  inexperienced  head  waiter  at  Bald- 
pate  Inn  had  attempted  to  seat  Mrs.  J.  San 
derson  Clark,  of  Pittsburgh,  at  the  same  table 
with  the  unassuming  Smiths,  of  Tiffin.  Ohio. 
The  remarks  of  Mrs.  Clark,  who  was  at 
the  time  busily  engaged  in  trying  to 
found  a  first  family,  lingered  long  in  the 
memory  of  those  who  heard  them.  So  long,  in 
fact,  that  Miss  Norton,  standing  with  Mr.  Magee 
in  the  hotel  office  awaiting  the  signal  from  Peters 
that  dinner  was  ready,  could  repeat  them  almost 
verbatim.  Mr.  Magee  cast  a  humorous  look 
about. 

"Lucky  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  sum 
mer  folks  aren't  carried  over  into  the  winter,"  he 
said.    "Imagine  a  Mrs.  Clark  asked  to  sit  at  table 
134 


THE  MAYOR  BEGINS  A  VIGIL     135 

with  the  mayor  of  Reuton  and  his  picturesque  but 
somewhat  soiled  friend,  Mr.  Max.  I  hope  the 
dinner  is  a  huge  success." 

The  girl  laughed. 

"The  natural  nervousness  of  a  host,"  she  re 
marked.  "Don't  worry.  The  hermit  and  his  tins 
won't  fail  you." 

"It's  not  the  culinary  end  that  worries  me," 
smiled  Magee.  "It's  the  repartee  and  wit.  I 
want  the  mayor  to  feel  at  home.  Do  you  know 
any  good  stories  ascribed  to  Congressman  Jones, 
of  the  Asquewan  district?" 

Together  they  strolled  to  a  window.  The  snow 
had  begun  to  fall  again,  and  the  lights  of  the  little 
hamlet  below  showed  but  dimly  through  the  white 
blur. 

"I  want  you  to  know,"  said  the  girl,  "that  I 
trust  you  now.  And  when  the  time  comes,  as  it1 
will  soon — to-night — I  am  going  to  ask  you  to 
help  me.  I  may  ask  a  rather  big  thing,  and  ask 
you  to  do  it  blindly,  just  trusting  in  me,  as  I  re 
fused  to  trust  in  you."  She  stopped  and  looked 
very  seriously  into  Mr.  Magee's  face. 

"I'm  mighty  glad,"  he  answered  in  a  low  tone. 


136  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"From  the  moment  I  saw  you  weeping  in  the  sta 
tion  I've  wanted  to  be  of  help  to  you.  The  sta 
tion  agent  advised  me  not  to  interfere.  He  said 
to  become  involved  with  a  weeping  woman  meant 
trouble.  The  fool.  As  though  any  trouble — " 

"He  was  right,"  put  in  the  girl,  "it  probably 
will  mean  trouble." 

"As  though  any  storm,"  finished  Mr.  Magee 
"would  not  be  worth  the  rainbow  of  your  smile 
at  the  end." 

"A  very  fancy  figure,"  laughed  she.  "But 
storms  aren't  nice." 

"There  are  a  few  of  us,"  replied  Magee,  "who 
can  be  merry  through  the  worst  of  them  because 
of  the  rainbow  to  come." 

For  answer,  she  flattened  her  finely-modeled 
nose  into  shapelessness  against  the  cold  pane. 
Back  of  them  in  the  candle-lighted  room,  the  mot 
ley  crew  of  Baldpate's  winter  guests  stood  about 
in  various  attitudes  of  waiting.  In  front  of  the 
fire  the  holder  of  the  Chair  of  Comparative  Lit 
erature  quoted  poetry  to  Mrs.  Norton,  and  proba 
bly  it  never  occurred  to  the  old  man  that  the  wom 
an  to  whom  he  talked  was  that  nightmare  of  his 


THE  MAYOR   BEGINS  A  VIGIL      137 

life — a  peroxide  blonde.  Ten  feet  away  in  the 
flickering  half-light,  the  immense  bulk  of  the 
mayor  of  Reuton  reposed  on  the  arm  of  a  leather 
couch,  and  before  him  stood  his  lithe  unpleasant 
companion,  Lou  Max,  side  by  side  with  Mr. 
Bland,  whose  talk  of  haberdashery  was  forever 
stilled.  The  candles  sputtered,  the  storm  angrily 
rattled  the  windows ;  Mr.  Peters  flitted  like  a  hairy 
wraith  about  the  table.  So  the  strange  game  that 
was  being  played  at  Baldpate  Inn  followed  the 
example  of  good  digestion  and  waited  on  appe 
tite. 

What  Mr.  Magee  flippantly  termed  his  dinner 
party  was  seated  at  last,  and  there  began  a  meal 
destined  to  linger  long  in  the  memories  of  those 
who  partook  if  it.  Puzzled  beyond  words,  the 
host  took  stock  of  his  guests.  Opposite  him,  at 
the  foot  of  the  table,  he  could  see  the  lined  tired 
face  of  Mrs.  Norton,  dazed,  uncomprehending,  a 
little  frightened.  At  his  right  the  great  red  acre 
age  of  Cargan's  face  held  defiance  and  some 
amusement;  beside  it  sneered  the  cruel  face  of 
Max ;  beyond  that  Mr.  Bland's  countenance  told  a 
story  of  worry  and  impotent  anger.  And  on  Mr, 


138  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

Magee's  left  sat  the  professor,  bearded,  specta 
cled,  calm,  seemingly  undisturbed  by  this  queer 
flurry  of  events,  beside  the  fair  girl  of  the  station 
who  trusted  Magee  at  last.  In  the  first  few  mo-! 
ments  of  silence  Mr.  Magee  compared  her  deli 
cate  features  with  the  coarse  knowing  face  of  the 
woman  at  the  table's  foot,  and  inwardly  answered 
"No." 

Without  the  genial  complement  of  talk  the  din 
ner  began.  Mr.  Peters  appeared  with  another 
variety  of  his  canned  soup,  whereupon  the  silence 
was  broken  by  the  gastronomic  endeavors  of  Mr. 
Max  and  the  mayor.  Mr.  Magee  was  reflecting 
that  conversation  must  be  encouraged,  when  Car- 
gan  suddenly  spoke. 

"I  hope  I  ain't  putting  you  folks  out  none,"  he 
remarked  with  obvious  sarcasm.  "It  ain't  my 
habit  to  drop  in  unexpected  like  this.  But  busi 
ness—" 

"We're  delighted,  I'm  sure,"  said  Mr.  Magee 
politely. 

"I  suppose  you  want  to  know  why  I'm  here," 
the  mayor  went  on.  "Well — "  he  hesitated — » 
"it's  like 


THE   MAYOR   BEGINS   A   VIGIL      139 

"Dear  Mr.  Cargan,"  Magee  broke  in,  "spare  us, 
I  pray.  And  spare  yourself.  We  have  had  ex 
planations  until  we  are  weary.  We  have  decided 
'to  drop  them  altogether,  and  just  to  take  it  for 
granted  that,  in  the  words  of  the  song,  we're  here 
because  we're  here." 

"All  right/'  replied  Cargan,  evidently  relieved. 
"That  suits  me.  I'm  tired  explaining,  anyhow. 
There's  a  bunch  of  reformers  rose  up  lately  in 
Reuton — maybe  you've  heard  about  'em.  A  lovely 
bunch.  A  white  necktie  and  a  half-portion  of 
brains  apiece.  They  say  they're  going  to  do  for 
me  at  the  next  election." 

Mr.  Max  laughed  harshly  from  the  vicinity  of 
his  soup, 

"They  wrote  the  first  joke  book,  them  people," 
•he  said. 

"Well,"  went  on  Cargan,  "there  ain't  nobody  sa 
insignificant  and  piffling  that  people  won't  listen 
to  'em  when  they  attack  a  man  in  public  life.  So 
I've  had  to  reply  to  this  comic  opera  bunch,  and 
as  I  say,  I'm  about  wore  out  explaining.  I've  had 
to  explain  that  I  never  stole  the  town  I  used  to 
live  in  in  Indiana,  and  that  I  didn't  atick  up  my 


i4o  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

father  with  a  knife.  It  gets  monotonous.  So  I'm 
much  obliged  to  you  for  passing  the  explanations 
up.  We  won't  bother  you  long,  me  and  Lou.  I 
got  a  little  business  here,  and  then  we'll  mosey 
along.  We'll  clear  out  about  nine  o'clock." 

"No,"  protested  Magee.  "So  soon?  We  must 
make  it  pleasant  for  you  while  you  stay.  I  al 
ways  hate  hosts  who  talk  about  their  servants — 
I  have  a  friend  who  bores  me  to  death  because  he 
has  a  Jap  butler  he  believes  was  at  Mukden.  But 
I  think  I  am  justified  in  calling  your  attention  to 
ours — Mr.  Peters,  the  Hermit  of  Baldpate  Moun 
tain.  Cooking  is  merely  his  avocation.  He  is 
writing  a  book." 

"That  guy,"  remarked  Cargan,  incredulous. 

"What  do  you  know  about  that?"  asked  Mr. 
Bland.  "It  certainly  will  get  a  lot  of  hot  adver 
tising  if  it  ever  appears.  It's  meant  to  prove  that 
all  the  trouble  in  the  world  has  been  caused  by 
[woman." 

The  mayor  considered. 

"He's  off— he's  nutty,  that  fellow,"  he  an 
nounced.  "It  ain't  women  that  cause  all  of  the 
trouble." 


THE  MAYOR   BEGINS   A  VIGIL      141 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Cargan,"  said  Miss  Norton, 
smiling. 

"Anybody'd  know  it  to  look  at  you,  miss,"  re 
plied  the  mayor  in  his  most  gallant  manner.  Then 
he  added  hastily:  "And  you,  ma'am,"  with  a 
nod  in  the  other  woman's  direction. 

"I  don't  know  as  I  got  the  evidence  in  my 
face,"  responded  Mrs.  Norton  easily,  "but  women 
don't  make  no  trouble,  I  know  that.  I  think  the 
man's  crazy,,  myself,  and  I'd  tell  him  so  if  he 
wasn't  the  cook."  She  paused,  for  Peters  had 
entered  the  room.  There  was  silence  while  he 
changed  the  courses.  "It's  getting  so  now  you 
can't  say  the  things  to  a  cook  you  can  to  a  king," 
she  finished,  after  the  hermit  had  retired. 

"Ahem — Mr.  Cargan,"  put  in  Professor  Bol< 
ton,  "you  give  it  as  your  opinion  that  woman  is  no 
trouble-maker,  and  I  must  admit  that  I  agree  with 
your  premise  in  general,  although  occasionally  she 
may  cause  a — a  slight  annoyance.  Undeniably, 
there  is  a  lot  of  trouble  in  the  world.  To  whose 
efforts  do  you  ascribe  it  ?" 

The  mayor  ran  his  thick  fingers  through  his 
hair. 


142  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"I  got  you,"  he  said,  "and  I  got  your  answer, 
too.  Who  makes  the  trouble?  Who's  made  it 
from  the  beginning  of  time?  The  reformers,  Doc. 
Yes,  sir.  Who  was  the  first  reformer?  The  snake 
in  the  garden  of  Eden.  This  hermit  guy  proba 
bly  has  that  affair  laid  down  at  woman's  door. 
Not  much.  Everything  was  running  all  right 
around  the  garden,  and  then  the  snake  came  along. 
It's  a  twenty  to  one  shot  he'd  just  finished  a  series 
of  articles  on  'The  Shame  of  Eden'  for  a  maga 
zine.  'What  d'ye  mean?'  he  says  to  the  woman, 
'by  letting  well  enough  alone?  Things  are  all 
wrong  here.  The  present  administration  is  run 
ning  everything  into  the  ground.  I  can  tell  you  a 
few  things  that  will  open  your  eyes.  What's  that  ? 
What  you  don't  know  won't  hurt  you?  The  old 
cry',  he  says,  'the  old  cry  against  which  progres 
sives  got  to  fight/  he  says.  'Wake  up.  You  need 
£  change  here.  Try  this  nice  red  apple,  and  you'll 
see  things  the  way  I  do.'  And  the  woman  fell  for 
it.  You  know  what  happened." 

"An  original  point  of  view,"  said  the  dazed 
professor. 

"Yes,  Doc,"  went  on  Mr.  Cargan,  evidently  on 


THE   MAYOR   BEGINS   A   VIGIL      143 

a  favorite  topic,  "it's  the  reformers  that  have 
caused  all  the  trouble,  from  that  snake  down. 
Things  are  running  smooth,  folks  all  prosperous 
and  satisfied — then  they  come  along  in  their  gum^ 
shoes  and  white  neckties.  And  they  knock  away 
at  the  existing  order  until  the  public  begins  to  be 
lieve  'em  and  gives  'em  a  chance  to  run  things. 
What's  the  result  ?  The  world's  in  a  worse  tangle 
than  ever  before." 

"You  feel  deeply  on  the  subject,  Mi .  Argan," 
remarked  Magee. 

"I  ought  to,"  the  mayor  replied.  "I  ain't  no 
writer,  but  if  I  was,  I'd  turn  out  a  book  that 
would  drive  this  whiskered  hermit's  argument  to 
the  wall.  Woman — bah!  The  only  way  women 
make  trouble  is  by  falling  for  the  reform  gag." 

Mr.  Peters  here  interrupted  with  the  dessert, 
and  through  that  course  Mr.  Cargan  elaborated 
on  his  theory.  He  pointed  out  how,  in  many1 
states,  reform  had  interrupted  the  smooth  flow  of 
life,  set  everything  awhirl,  and  cruelly  sent  "the 
boys"  who  had  always  been  faithful  out  into  the 
cold  world  seeking  the  stranger,  work.  While  he 
talked,  the  eyes  of  Lou  Max  looked  out  at  him, 


144  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

from  behind  the  incongruous  gold-rimmed  glass 
es,  with  the  devotion  of  the  dog  to  its  master 
clearly  written  in  them.  Mr.  Magee  had  read 
many  articles  about  this  picturesque  Cargan  who 
had  fought  his  way  with  his  fists  to  the  position 
of  practical  dictator  in  the  city  of  Reuton.  The 
story  was  seldom  told  without  a  mention  of  his 
man  Max — Lou  Max  who  kept  the  south  end 
of  Reuton  in  line  for  the  mayor,  and  in  that  low 
neighborhood  of  dives  and  squalor  made  Car- 
gan's  a  name  to  conjure  with.  Watching  him 
now,  Mr.  Magee  marveled  at  this  cheap  crea 
ture's  evident  capacity  for  loyalty. 

"It  was  the  reformers  got  Napoleon,"  the 
mayor  finished.  "Yes,  they  sent  Napoleon  to  an 
island  at  the  end.  And  him  without  an  equal 
since  the  world  began." 

"Is  your — begging  your  pardon — is  your  his 
tory  just  straight?"  demurred  Professor  Bolton 
timidly. 

"Is  it?"  frowned  Cargan.  "You  can  bet  it  is.  I 
know  Napoleon  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave.  I 
ain't  an  educated  man,  Doe— I  can  hire  all  the 


THE   MAYOR   BEGINS    A   VIGIL      145 

educated  men  I  want  for  eighteen  dollars  a  week 
— but  I'm  up  on  Bonaparte." 

"It  seems  to  me/'  Miss  Norton  put  in,  "I  have 
heard — did  I  read  it  in  a  paper? — that  a  picture 
of  Napoleon  hangs  above  your  desk.  They  say 
that  you  see  in  your  own  career,  a  similarity  to 
his.  May  I  ask — is  it  true  ?" 

"No,  miss,"  replied  Cargan.  "That's  a  joking 
story  some  newspaper  guy  wrote  up.  It  ain't  got 
no  more  truth  in  it  than  most  newspaper  yarns. 
No,  I  ain't  no  Napoleon.  There's  lots  of  differ 
ences  between  us — one  in  particular."  He  raised 
his  voice,  and  glared  at  the  company  around  the 
table.  "One  in  particular.  The  reformers  got 
Napoleon  at  the  end." 

"But  the  end  is  not  yet,"  suggested  Mr.  Magee, 
smiling. 

Mr.  Cargan  gave  him  a  sudden  and  interested 
look. 

"I  ain't  worrying,"  he  replied.  "And  don't 
you,  young  fellow." 

Mr.  Magee  responded  that  he  was  not  one  to 
indulge  in  needless  worry,  and  a  silence  fell  upon 


146  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

the  group.  Peters  entered  with  coffee,  and  was 
(engaged  in  pouring  it  when  Mr.  Bland  started  up 
'wildly  from  the  table  with  an  expression  of  alarm 
[on  his  face. 

"What's  that?"  he  cried. 
The  others  looked  at  him  in  wonder. 
"I  heard  steps  up-stairs,"  he  declared. 
"Nonsense,"  said  Mr.  Cargan,  "you're  drean> 
ing.  This  peace  and  quiet  has  got  to  you,  Bland.** 
Without  replying,  Mr.  Bland  rose  and  ran  up 
the  stair.    In  his  absence  the  Hermit  of  Baldpate 
spoke  into  Magee's  ear. 

"I  ain't  one  to  complain,"  he  said ;  "livin'  alone 
as  much  as  I  do  I've  sort  of  got  out  of  the  habit, 
, having  nobody  to  complain  to.  But  if  folks  keep 
coming  and  coming  to  this  hotel,  I've  got  to  re 
sign  as  cook.  Seems  as  though  every  few  min 
utes  there's  a  new  face  at  the  table,  and  it's  a 
vital  matter  to  me." 

"Cheer  up,  Peters,"  whispered  Mr.  Magee. 
"There  are  only  two  more  keys  to  the  inn.  There 
will  be  a  limit  to  our  guests." 

"What  I'm  getting  at  is,"  replied  Mr.  Peters, 
''there's  a  limit  to  my  endurance." 


THE   MAYOR   BEGINS   A   VIGIL      147 

Mr.  Bland  came  down-stairs.  His  face  was 
very  pale  as  he  took  his  seat,  but  in  reply  to  Car- 
gan's  question  he  remarked  that  he  must  have 
been  mistaken. 

"It  was  the  wind,  I  guess/'  he  said. 

The  mayor  made  facetious  comment  on  Mr. 
Bland's  "skittishness",  and  Mr.  Max  also  in 
dulged  in  a  gibe  or  two.  These  the  haberdasher 
met  with  a  wan  smile.  So  the  dinner  came  to  an 
end,  and  the  guests  of  Baldpate  sat  about  while 
Mr.  Peters  removed  all  traces  of  it  from  the  table. 
Mr.  Magee  sought  to  talk  to  Miss  Norton,  but 
found  her  nervous  and  distrait. 

"Has  Mr.  Bland  frightened  you?"- he  asked. 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  have  other  things  to 
think  of,"  she  replied. 

Mr.  Peters  shortly  bade  the  company  good-by 
for  the  night,  with  the  warmly  expressed  hope  in 
Mr.  Magee's  ear  that  there  would  be  no  further 
additions  to  the  circle  in  the  near  future.  When 
he  had  started  off  through  the  snow  for  his  shack, 
Mr.  Cargan  took  out  his  watch. 

"You've  been  pretty  kind  to  us  poor  wanderers 
already,"  he  said.  "I  got  one  more  favor  to  ask. 


148  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

I  come  up  here  to  see  Mr.  Bland.  We  got  some 
business  to  transact,  and  we'd  consider  it  a  great 
kindness  if  you  was  to  leave  us  alone  here  in  the 
office." 

Mr.  Magee  hesitated.  He  saw  the  girl  nod  her 
Jaead  slightly,  and  move  toward  the  stairs. 

"Certainly,  if  you  wish,"  he  said.  "I  hope  you 
won't  go  without  saying  good-by,  Mr.  Cargan." 

"That  all  depends,"  replied  the  mayor.  "I've 
enjoyed  knowing  you,  one  and  all.  Good  night." 

The  women,  the  professor  and  Mr.  Magee 
moved  up  the  broad  stairway.  On  the  landing 
Mr.  Magee  heard  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Norton,  some 
where  in  the  darkness  ahead. 

"I'm  worried,  dearie — real  worried." 

"Hush,"  came  the  girl's  voice.  "Mr.  Magee — 
we'll  meet  again — soon." 

Mr.  Magee  seized  the  professor's  arm,  and  to 
gether  they  stood  in  the  shadows. 

"I  don't  like  the  looks  of  things,"  came  Eland's 
hoarse  complaint  from  below.  "What  time  is  it?" 

"Seven-thirty,"  Cargan  answered.  "A  good 
half-hour  yet." 

"There  was  somebody  on  the  second  floor  when 


THE   MAYOR   BEGINS   A   VIGIL      149 

I  went  up,"  Bland  continued.  "I  saw  him  run 
into  one  of  the  rooms  and  lock  the  door." 

"I've  got  charge  now,"  the  mayor  reassured 
him,  "don't  you  worry." 

"There's  something  doing."  This  seemed  to  be 
Max's  voice. 

"There  sure  is,"  laughed  Cargan.  "But  what 
do  I  care?  I  own  young  Drayton.  I  put  him 
where  he  is.  I  ain't  afraid.  Let  them  gumshoe 
round  as  much  as  they  want  to.  They  can't  touch 
me." 

"Maybe  not,"  said  Bland.  "But  Baldpate  Inn 
ain't  the  grand  idea  it  looked  at  first,  is  it  ?" 

"It's  a  hell  of  an  idea,"  answered  Cargan. 
'There  wasn't  any  need  of  all  this  folderol.  I 
told  Hayden  so.  Does  that  phone  ring?" 

"No — it'll  just  flash  a  light,  when  they  want 
us,"  Bland  told  him. 

Mr.  Magee  and  Professor  Bolton  continued 
softly  up  the  stairs,  and  in  answer  to  the  former's 
invitation,  the  old  man  entered  number  seven  and 
took  a  chair  by  the  fire. 

"It  is  an  amazing  tangle,"  he  remarked,  "in 
which  we  are  involved.  I  have  no  idea  what  your 


150  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

place  is  in  the  scheme  of  things  up  here.  But  I  as 
sume  you  grasp  what  is  going  on,  if  I  do  not.  I 
am  not  so  keen  of  wit  as  I  once  was." 

"If  you  think,"  answered  Mr.  Magee,  proffering 
a  cigar,  "that  I  am  in  on  this  little  game  of  Who's 
Who',  then  you  are  vastly  mistaken.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  I  am  as  much  in  the  dark  as  you  are." 

The  professor  smiled. 

"Indeed,"  he  said  in  a  tone  that  showed  his  un 
belief.  "Indefcd." 

He  was  deep  in  a  discussion  of  the  meters  of 
the  poet  Chaucer  when  there  came  a  knock  at  the 
door,  and  Mr.  Lou  Max's  unpleasant  head  was 
thrust  inside. 

"I  been  assigned,"  he  said,  "to  sit  up  here  in  the 
hall  and  keep  an  eye  out  for  the  ghost  Bland 
heard  tramping  about.  And  being  of  a  sociable 
nature,  I'd  like  to  sit  in  your  doorway,  if  you 
don't  mind." 

"By  all  means,"  replied  Magee.  "Here's  a 
chair.  Do  you  smoke?" 

"Thanks."  Mr.  Max  placed  the  chair  sidewise 
in  the  doorway  of  number  seven,  and  sat  down. 
From  his  place  he  commanded  a  view  of  Mr.  Ma- 


THE   MAYOR   BEGINS   A   VIGIL      151 

gee's  apartments  and  of  the  head  of  the  stairs. 
With  his  yellow  teeth  he  viciously  bit  the  end 
from  the  cigar.  "Don't  let  me  interrupt  the  con 
versation,  gentlemen,"  he  pleaded. 

"We  were  speaking,"  said  the  professor  calm 
ly,  "of  the  versification  of  Chaucer.  Mr.  Ma- 
gee-" 

He  continued  his  discussion  in  an  even  voice. 
Mr.  Magee  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  smiled  in 
a  pleased  way  at  the  settings  of  the  stage:  Mr. 
Max  in  a  cloud  of  smoke  on  guard  at  his  door;  the 
mayor  and  Mr.  Bland  keeping  vigil  by  a  telephone 
switchboard  in  the  office  below,  watching  for  the 
flash  of  light  that  should  tell  them  some  one  in  the 
outside  world  wanted  to  speak  to  Baldpate  Inn; 
a  mysterious  figure  who  flitted  about  in  the  dark ; 
a  beautiful  girl  who  was  going  to  ask  Mr.  Magee 
to  do  her  a  service,  blindly  trusting  her. 

The  professor  droned  on  monotonously.  Once 
Mr.  Magee  interrupted  to  engage  Lou  Max  in 
spirited  conversation.  For,  through  the  squares 
of  light  outside  the  windows,  he  had  seen  the  gir\ 
of  the  station  pass  hurriedly  down  the  balcony, 
the  snowflakes  falling  white  on  her  yellow  hair. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MR.  MAX  TELLS  A  TALE  OF  SUSPICION 

AT  hour  passed.  Mr.  Max  admitted  when 
pressed  that  a  good  cigar  soothed  the 
soul,  and  accepted  another  from  Magee's  stock. 
The  professor  continued  to  talk.  Obviously  it 
was  his  favorite  diversion.  He  seemed  to  be  quot 
ing  from  addresses;  Mr.  Magee  pictured  him  on 
a  Chautauqua  platform,  the  white  water  pitcher 
by  his  side. 

As  he  talked,  Mr.  Magee  studied  that  portion 
of  his  delicate  scholarly  face  that  the  beard  left 
exposed  to  the  world.  What  part  had  Thaddeus 
Bolton,  holder  of  the  Crandall  Chair  of  Compara 
tive  Literature,  in  this  network  of  odd  alarms? 
Why  was  he  at  Baldpate?  And  why  was  he  so 
little  moved  by  the  rapid  changes  in  the  make-up 
of  the  inn  colony — changes  that  left  Mr.  Magee 
grasping?  He  took  them  as  calmly  as  he  would 
152 


A  TALE  OF   SUSPICION         153 

take  his  grapefruit  at  the  breakfast-table.  Only 
that  morning  Mr.  Magee,  by  way  of  experiment, 
had  fastened  upon  him  the  suspicion  of  murder, 
and  the  old  man  had  not  flickered  an  eyelash.  Not 
the  least  strange  of  all  the  strange  figures  that 
floated  about  Baldpate,  Mr.  Magee  reflected,  was 
this  man  who  fiddled  now  with  Chaucer  while, 
metaphorically,  Rome  burned.  He  could  not  make 
it  out 

Mr.  Max  inserted  a  loud  yawn  into  the  profes 
sor's  discourse. 

"Once  I  played  chess  with  a  German,"  he  said, 
"and  another  time  I  went  to  a  lecture  on  purifying 
politics,  but  I  never  struck  anything  so  monoto 
nous  as  this  job  I  got  now." 

"So  sorry,"  replied  Magee,  "that  our  company 
bores  you." 

"No  offense,"  remarked  the  yellow-faced  one. 
"I  was  just  thinking  as  I  set  here  how  it  all  comes 
of  people  being  suspicious  of  one  another.  Now 
I've  always  held  that  the  world  would  be  a  better 

>lace  if  there  wasn't  no  suspicion  in  it.  Nine  times 
out  of  ten  the  suspicion  ain't  got  a  leg  to  stand 

>n — if  suspicion  can  be  said  to  have  a  leg." 


154  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

Evidently  Mr.  Max  desired  the  floor ;  gracious 
ly  Professor  Bolton  conceded  it  to  him. 

"Speaking  of  suspicion,"  continued  the  drab 
little  man  on  the  threshold,  turning  his  cigar 
thoughtfully  between  his  thin  lips,  "reminds  me 
of  a  case  told  me  by  Pueblo  Sam,  a  few  years  ago. 
In  some  ways  it's  real  funny,  and  in  others  it's 
sad  as  hell.  Pueblo  Sam  was  called  in  them  terms 
because  he'd  never  been  west  of  Sixth  Avenue. 
He  was  a  swell  refined  gentleman  who  lived  by 
his  wits,  and  he  had  considerable." 

"A  confidence  man,"  suggested  Magee. 

"Something  along  that  order,"  admitted  Mr. 
Max,  "but  a  good  sport  among  his  friends,  you 
understand.  Well,  this  case  of  suspicion  Sam  tells 
me  about  happened  something  like  this.  One 
scorching  hot  day  in  summer  Sam  gets  aboard 
the  Coney  boat,  his  idea  being  to  put  all  business 
cares  away  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  just  float  calm 
and  peaceful  down  the  bay,  and  cool  off.  So  he 
grabs  out  a  camp  chair  and  hustles  through  the 
crowd  up  to  the  top  deck,  beside  the  pilot's  hang 
out,  and  sits  down  to  get  acquainted  with  the 
breeze,  if  such  there  was. 


A   TALE   OF   SUSPICION         155 

"Well,  he'd  been  sitting  there  about  ten  min 
utes,  Sam  tells  me,  when  along  came  about  the 
easiest  picking  that  ever  got  loose  from  the  old 
homestead — " 

"I  beg  your  pardon/'  protested  Professor  Bol- 
ton. 

"The  ready  money,  the  loosened  kale,  the  posies 
in  the  garden  waiting  to  be  plucked,"  elucidated 
Mr.  Max.  "This  guy,  Sam  says,  was  such  a  per 
fect  rube  he  just  naturally  looked  past  him  to  see 
if  there  was  a  trail  of  wisps  of  hay  on  the  floor. 
For  a  while  Sam  sits  there  with  a  grouch  as  he 
thought  how  hard  it  was  to  put  business  aside  and 
get  a  little  rest  now  and  then,  and  debating 
whether,  being  on  a  vacation,  as  it  was,  he'd  exert 
himself  enough  to  stretch  forth  his  hand  and  take 
whatever  money  the  guy  had.  While  he  was  arguj 
ing  the  matter  with  himself,  the  jay  settled  the 
question  by  coming  over  and  sitting  down  near 
him. 

"He's  in  the  city,  he  tells  Sam,  to  enjoy  the 
moving  pictures  of  the  streets,  and  otherwise  for 
get  the  trees  back  home  that  grow  the  cherries  in 
trw  bottom  pf  the  cocktail  glasses.  'And  believe 


156  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

me/  he  says  to  Sam,  'there  ain't  none  of  those 
confidence  men  going  to  get  me.  I'm  too  wise/  he 


"  Til  bet  money  you  are/  Sam  tells  him  laugh 
ing  all  over  at  the  fish  that  was  fighting  to  gtt  into 
the  net 

"  'Yes,  siree/  says  the  last  of  the  Mohicans, 
'they  can't  fool  me.  I  can  tell  them  as  fur  away 
as  I  can  see  'em,  and  my  eyesight's  perfect.  One 
of  'em  comes  up  to  me  in  City  Hall  park  and  tries 
to  sell  me  some  mining  stock.  I  guess  he  ain't  re 
covered  yet  from  what  I  said  to  him.  I  tell  you> 
they  can't  fool  Mark  Dennen/  says  the  guy. 

"Sam  told  me  that  at  them  words  he  just  leaned 
back  in  his  seat  and  stared  at  the  jay  and  whistled 
under  his  breath.  Years  ago,  it  seemed,  Sam  had 
lived  in  the  town  of  Readsboro,  Vermont,  and  run 
tip  and  down  the  streets  with  one  suspender  and  a 
stone  bruise,  and  the  kid  that  had  run  with  him 
was  Mark  Dennen.  And  Sam  says  he  looked  at 
this  guy  from  the  woods  that  was  running  round 
crying  to  high  heaven  he  needed  a  guardian,  and 
he  sees  that  sure  enough  it  was  the  tow-head  Mark 
Dennen  and  —  Sam  told  me  —  something  seemed 


A   TALE   OF   SUSPICION         157 

to  bust  inside  him,  and  he  wanted  to  stretch  out 
his  arms  and  hug  this  guy. 

"  'Mark  Dennen,'  shouts  Sam,  'as  I  live.  Of 
Readsboro,  Vermont.  The  kid  I  used  to  play  with 
under  the  arc  lights — don't  you  remember  me?' 

"But  Sam  says  the  guy  just  looked  him  straight 
in  the  eye,  and  shut  his  jaw,  and  says :  'I  suppose 
you'll  be  asking  after  my  brother  George  next?' 

"  'You  ain't  got  any  brother  George,  you  idiot/ 
laughs  Sam.  He  told  me  he  was  thinking  how 
he'd  treat  his  old  friend  Mark  to  a  dinner  that 
would  go  down  in  history  in  Readsboro.  'Mark, 
you  pld  rascal,5  he  says,  'don't  you  remember  me 
— don't  you  remember  little  Sam  Burns  that  used 
to  play  andy-over  with  you,  and  that  stole  your 
girl  in  1892  ?  Don't  you  remember  the  old  days  in 
Readsboro  ?'  He  was  all  het  up  by  this  time,  Sam 
tells  me,  and  all  the  old  memories  came  creeping 
back,  and  he  kept  thinking  he  never  was  so  glad 
to  run  across  anybody  in  his  life.  'You  remember 
little  Sam  Burns,  don't  you?'  he  asks  once  more. 
But  this  guy  jftst  looks  back  into  Sam's  eye, 
ith  his  own  cold  as  steel,  and  he  says,  says  he: 
'You're  pretty  clever,  mister,  but  you  don't  fool 


158  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

me.  No,  you  don't  come  any  games  on  Mark 
Dennen.' 

"  'But,  Mark/  says  Sam,  'I  swear  to  you  by  all 
that's  holy  that  I'm  that  kid — I'm  Sam  Burns. 
What  proof  do  you  want  ?  Do  you  remember  old 
Ed  Haywood  that  used  to  keep  the  drug  store 
right  across  from  the  post-office?  The  guy  that 
never  washed  his  windows  ?  I  do.  And  Miss  Hunt 
er  that  taught  the  sixth  grade  school  when  we  went 
there — a  little  woman  with  washed-out  gray  eyes 
and  a  broken  front  tooth  ?  And  that  pretty  little 
girl,  Sarah  somebody — wait  a  minute,  I'll  get  it  or 
bust — Sarah — Sarah — Sarah  Scott,  you  used  to 
be  so  sweet  on  ?  Did  you  marry  her,  Mark  ?  And 
old  Lafe  Perkins,  who  used  to  be  on  hand  when 
ever  there  was  any  repairs  being  made  anywhere 
— rheumatism  and  a  cane  and  a  high  squeaky 
voice  that  he  used  to  exercise  giving  orders  about 
things  that  wasn't  any  of  his  business.  Why, 
Mark,  I  remember  'em  all.  Good  lord,  man/  says 
Sam,  'do  you  want  any  more  proof  ?' 

"But  this  country  blockhead  just  looked  Sam 
up  and  down,  and  remarks  judicious:  'It's  cer 
tainly  wonderful  how  you  know  all  these  things. 


A  TALE  OF   SUSPICION         159 

Wonderful.  But  you  can't  fool  me,'  he  says,  'you 
can't  fool  Mark  Dennen.' ' 

Mr.  Max  paused  in  his  narrative  for  a  moment 
The  sound  of  voices  came  up  from  the  office  pf 
Baldpate  Inn.  One,  that  of  the  mayor,  boomed 
loudly  and  angrily.  In  an  evident  desire  to  drown 
it,  Mr.  Max  went  on  with  spirit : 

"Well,  gentlemen,  it  got  to  be  a  point  of  honor, 
as  you  might  say,  for  Sam  to  convince  that  guy. 
He  told  me  he  never  wanted  anything  so  much  in 
his  life  as  for  Mark  Dennen  to  give  in.  It  was  a 
hot  afternoon,  and  he'd  come  aboard  that  boat  for 
a  rest,  but  he  peeled  off  his  collar  and  started  in. 
He  gave  Mark  Dennen  the  number  of  bricks  in 
the  Methodist  Church,  as  reported  in  the  Reads- 
bo  ro  Citizen  at  the  time  it  was  built.  He  told  him 
the  name  pf  the  piece  Mark's  sister  recited  at  the 
school  entertainment  In  the  spring  of  1890.  He 
bounded  on  all  four  sides  the  lot  where  the  cir 
cuses  played  when  they  came  to  Readsboro.  He 
named  every  citizen  of  the  town,  living  or  dead, 
that  ever  got  to  be  known  outside  his  own  family, 
and  he  brought  children  into  the  world  and  mar 
ried  them  and  read  the  funeral  service  over  them, 


160  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

and  still  that  bonehead  from  the  woods  sat  there, 
his  mouth  open,  and  says:  'It's  beyond  me  how 
you  know  all  that  You  New  Yorkers  are  slicker 
then  I  give  ye  credit  for.  But  you  can't  fool  me^ 
You  ain't  Sam  Burns.  Why,  I  went  to  school 
with  him.' 

"They  was  drawing  near  Coney  now,"  went  on 
Mr.  Max,  "and  Sam's  face  was  purple  and  he  was 
dripping  with  perspiration,  and  rattling  off  Reads- 
boro  happenings  at  the  rate  of  ten  a  second,  but 
that  Mark  Dennen  he  sat  there  and  wouldn't 
budge  from  his  high  horse.  So  they  came  up  to 
the  pier,  Sam  almost  weeping  real  tears  and  plead 
ing  like  his  heart  would  break :  'Mark,  don't  you 
remember  that  time  we  threw  little  Bill  Barnaby 
into  the  swimming  hole,  and  he  couldn't  swim  a 
stroke  and  nearly  drowned  on  us?'  and  still  get 
ting  the  stony  face  from  his  old  pal. 

"And  on  the  pier  this  Dennen  held  out  his  hand 
to  Sam,  who  was  a  physical  wreck  and  a  broken 
man  by  this  time,  and  says :  'You  sure  are  cute, 
mister.  I'll  have  great  times  telling  this  in  Reads- 
boro.  Once  you  met  one  too  smart  for  ye,  eh? 
Much  obliged  for  your  company,  anyhow !'  And 


A  TALE  OF   SUSPICION         161 

he  went  away  and  left  Sam  leaning  against  the 
railing,  with  no  faith  in  human  nature  no  more. 
'I  hope  somebody  got  to  him/  says  Sam  to  me, 
'and  got  to  him  good.  He's  the  kind  that  if  you 
work  right  you  can  sell  stock  in  a  company  for- 
starting  roof  gardens  on  the  tops  of  the  pyramids} 
in  Egypt.  I'd  trimmed  him  myself,'  says  Sam  to 
me,  'but  I  hadn't  the  heart/  " 

Mr.  Max  finished,  and  again  from  below  came 
the  sound  of  voices  raised  in  anger. 

"An  interesting  story,  Mr.  Max,"  commented 
Professor  Bolton.  "I  shall  treasure  it." 

"Tpld  with  a  remarkable  feeling  for  detail," 
added  Mr.  Magee.  "In  fact,  it  seems  to  me  that 
only  one  of  the  two  participants  in  it  could  re 
member  all  the  fine  points  so  well.  Mr.  Max,  you 
don't  exactly  look  like  Mark  Dennen  to  me,  there 
fore — if  you  will  pardon  the  liberty—" 

"I  get  you,"  replied  Max  sadly.    "The  same  old 
story.    Suspicion — suspicion  everywhere.    It  does 
1  a  lot  of  harm,  believe  me.    I  wouldn't — " 

He  jumped  from  his  chair  and  disappeared,  for 
the  voice  of  Cargan  had  hailed  him  from  below. 
Mr.  Magee  and  the  professor  with  one  accord  fol- 


162  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

lowed.  Hiding  in  the  friendly  shadows  of  the 
landing  once  again,  they  heard  the  loud  tones  of 
the  mayor's  booming  voice,  and  the  softer  tones 
of  Eland's. 

"How  about  this?"  bellowed  the  mayor.  "Hay- 
den's  squealed.  Phones  to  Bland — not  to  me. 
Whines  about  the  courts — I  don't  know  what  rot. 
He's  squealed.  He  didn't  phone  the  combination." 

"The  rat!"  screamed  Mr.  Max. 

"By  the  Lord  Harry,"  said  the  mayor,  "I'll 
have  it  open,  anyhow.  I've  earned  what's  in 
there,  fair  and— I've  earned  it  I'm  going  to 
have  it,  Max." 

"See  here,  Cargan — "  put  in  Mr.  Bland. 

"Keep  out  of  the  way,  you,"  cried  Cargan. 
"And  put  away  that  pop-gun  before  you  get  hurt. 
I'm  going  to  have  what's  mine  by  justice.  That 
safe  comes  open  to-night.  Max,  get  your  satchel." 

Mr.  Magee  and  the  professor  turned  and  as 
cended  to  the  second  floor.  In  front  of  number 
seven  they  paused  and  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes.  Professor  Bolton  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I'm  going  to  bed,"  he  said,  "and  I  advise  you 
to  do  the  same." 


A  TALE  OF   SUSPICION         163 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Magee,  but  had  no  idea 
what  he  had  said.  As  for  the  old  man's  advice, 
he  had  no  intention  pf  taking  it.  Melodrama — 
the  thing  he  had  come  to  Baldpate  Inn  to  forget 
forever — raged  through  that  home  of  solitude 
Men  spoke  of  guns,  and  swore,  and  threatened. 
What  was  it  all  about  ?  And  what  part  could  he 
play  in  it  all  ? 

He  entered  number  seven,  and  paused  in  amaze 
ment.  Outside  one  of  his  windows  Miss  Norton 
stood,  rapping  on  the  glass  for  him  to  open.  When 
he  stood  facing  her  at  last,  the  window  no  longer 
between,  he  saw  that  her  face  was  very  pale  and 
that  her  chin  trembled  as  it  had  in  the  station. 

"What  is  it?"  cried  Magee. 

"I  mustn't  come  in,"  she  answered.  "Listen. 
You  said  you  wanted  to  help  me.  You  can  do  so 
now.  I'll  explain  everything  later — this  is  all  I 
need  tell  you  just  at  present.  Down-stairs  in  the 
safe  there's  a  package  containing  two  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  Do  you  hear — two  hundred 
thousand.  I  must  have  that  package.  Don't 
ask  me  why.  I  came  here  to  get  it — I  must 
have  it.  The  combination  was  to  have  been 


164  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

phoned  to  Cargan  at  eight  o'clock.  I  was  hiding 
outside  the  window.  Something  went  wrong — • 
they  didn't  phone  it.  He's  going  to  open  the  safe 
by  force.  I  heard  him  say  so.  I  couldn't  wait  to 
hear  more — I  saw  him." 

"Who?"  asked  Mr.  Magee. 

"I  don't  know — a  tall  black  figure — hiding  out 
side  a  window  like  myself.  The  man  with  one  of 
the  other  keys,  I  suppose.  The  man  Mr.  Bland 
heard  walking  about  to-night.  I  saw  him  and  I 
was  terribly  frightened.  It's  all  right  when  you 
know  who  the  other  fellow  is,  but  when — it's  ail 
so  creepy — I  was  afraid.  So  I  ran — here." 

"The  thing  to  do,"  approved  Mr.  Magee. 
"Don't  worry.  I'll  get  the  money  for  you.  I'll 
get  it  if  I  have  to  slay  the  city  administration  of 
Reuton  in  its  tracks." 

"You  trust  me?"  asked  the  girl,  with  a  little 
catch  in  her  voice.  The  snow  lay  white  on  her 
hair;  even  in  the  shadows  her  eyes  suggested 
June  skies.  "Without  knowing  who  I  am,  or 
why  I  must  have  this  money — you'll  get  it  for 
me?" 

"Some  people,"  said  Mr.  Magee,  '"meet  aif  their 


A   TALE  OF   SUSPICION         165 

lives  long  at  pink  little  teas,  and  never  know  one 
another,  while  others  just  smile  at  each  other 
across  a  station  waiting-room — that's  enough." 

"I'm  so  glad,"  whispered  the  girl.  "I  never 
dreamed  I'd  meet  any  one  like  you — up  here. 
Please,  oh,  please,  be  very  careful.  Neither  Car- 
gan  nor  Max  is  armed.  Bland  is.  I  should  never 
forgive  myself  if  you  were  hurt.  But  you  won't 
be — will  you?" 

"I  may  catch  cold,"  laughed  Mr.  Magee ;  "oth 
erwise  I'll  be  perfectly  safe."  He  went  into  the 
room  and  put  on  a  gay  plaid  cap.  "Makes  me 
look  like  Sherlock  Holmes,"  he  smiled  at  the  girl 
framed  in  the  window.  When  he  turned  to  his 
door  to  lock  it,  he  discovered  that  the  key  was 
gone  and  that  it  had  been  locked  on  the  outside. 
"Oh,  very  well,"  he  said  flippantly.  He  buttoned 
his  coat  to  the  chin,  blew  out  the  candles  in  num 
ber  seven,  and  joined  the  girl  on  the  balcony. 

"Go  to  your  room,"  he  said  gently.  "Your 
worries  are  over.  I'll  bring  you  the  golden  fleece 
inside  an  hour." 

"Be  careful,"  she  whispered.  "Be  very  care 
ful,  Mr.— Billy." 


166  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"Just  for  that,"  cried  Magee  gaily,  "I'll  get 
you  four  hundred  thousand  dollars." 

He  ran  to  the  end  of  the  balcony,  and  dropping 
>oftly  to  the  ground,  was  ready  for  his  first  ex-* 
periinent  in  the  gentle  art  of  highway  robbery. 


CHAPTER  IX 

MELODRAMA  IN  THE  SNOW 

THE  justly  celebrated  moon  that  in  summer 
months  shed  so  much  glamour  on  the  ro 
mances  of  Baldpate  Inn  was  no  where  in  evidence 
as  Mr.  Magee  crept  along  the  ground  close  to  the 
veranda.  The  snow  sifted  down  upon  him  out 
of  the  blackness  above;  three  feet  ahead  the 
world  seemed  to  end. 

"A  corking  night,"  he  muttered  humorously, 
"for  my  debut  in  the  hold-up  business." 

He  swung  up  over  the  rail  on  to  the  veranda, 
and  walked  softly  along  it  until  he  came  to  a  win 
dow  opening  into  the  office.  Cautiously  he  peered 
in.  The  vast  lonely  room  was  lighted  by  a  single 
candle.  At  the  foot  of  the  broad  stair  he  could 
discern  a  great  bulk,  seated  on  the  lowest  step^ 
which  he  correctly  took  to  be  the  mayor  of  Reu- 
ton.  Back  of  the  desk,  on  which  stood  the  candle, 
Mr.  Max's  head  and  shoulders  were  visible.  He 

167 


168  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

was  working  industriously  in  the  immediate  vicin 
ity  of  the  safe  door.  Occasionally  he  consulted 
the  small  traveling-bag  that  stood  on  the  desk. 
Many  other  professions  had  claimed  Mr.  Max  be 
fore  his  advent  into  Reuton  politics ;  evidently  he 
was  putting  into  operation  the  training  acquired 
in  one  of  them.  Mr.  Bland  was  nowhere  in  sight. 

Shivering  with  cold  and  excitement,  Mr.  Magee 
leaned  against  the  side  of  Baldpate  Inn  and 
waited.  Mr.  Max  worked  eagerly,  turning  fre 
quently  to  his  bag  as  a  physician  might  turn 
to  his  medicine-case.  No  word  was  spoken  in  the 
office.  Minutes  passed.  The  bulk  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs  surged  restlessly.  Mr.  Max's  opera 
tions  were  mostly  hidden  by  the  desk  at  which, 
in  summer,  timid  old  ladies  inquired  for  their 
mail.  Having  time  to  think,  Mr.  Magee  pictured 
the  horror  of  those  ladies  could  they  come  up  to 
the  desk  at  Baldpate  now. 

Suddenly  Mr.  Max  ran  out  into  the  center  of 
the  office.  Almost  on  the  instant  there  was  a 
white  puff  of  smoke  and  a  roar.  The  inn  seemed 
about  to  roll  down  the  mountain  after  all  those 
ytars  of  sticking  tight.  The  mayor  looked  appre* 


MELODRAMA   IN   THE   SNOW    169 

hensively  up  the  stair  behind  him ;  Mr.  Max  ran 
to  the  open  safe  door  and  came  back  before  the 
desk  with  a  package  in  his  hand.  After  examin 
ing  it  hastily,  Mr.  Cargan  placed  the  loot  in  his 
pocket.  The  greedy  eyes  of  Max  followed  it  for 
a  second ;  then  he  ran  over  and  gathered  up  his 
tools.  Now  they  were  ready  to  depart.  The 
mayor  lifted  the  candle  from  the  desk.  Its  light 
fell  on  a  big  chair  by  the  fire,  and  Mr.  Magee  saw 
in  that  chair  the  figure  of  Mr.  Bland,  bound  and 
gagged. 

Mr.  Cargan  and  his  companion  paused,  and  ap 
peared  to  address  triumphant  and  jesting  com 
ment  in  Mr.  Eland's  direction.  Then  they  but 
toned  their  coats  and,  holding  aloft  the  candle, 
disappeared  through  the  dining-room  door. 

"I  must  have  that  package."  Standing  on  the 
balcony  of  Baldpate  Inn,  her  yellow  hair  white 
with  snow,  her  eyes  shining  even  in  shadow,  thus 
(had  the  lady  of  this  weird  drama  spoken  to  Mr. 
•^  Magee.  And  gladly  he  had  undertaken  the  quest. 
Now,  he  knew,  the  moment  had  come  to  act.  Max 
he  could  quickly  dispose  pf,  he  felt;  Cargan 
would  require  time  and  attention. 


170  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

He  hurried  round  to  the  front  door  of  the  inn, 
and  taking  the  big  key  from  his  pocket,  unlocked 
it  as  a  means  of  retreat  where  the  men  he  was 
about  to  attack  could  not  follow.  Already  he 
heard  their  muffled  steps  in  the  distance.  Crpss- 
ing  the  veranda,  he  dropped  down  into  the  snow 
by  the  side  of  the  great  stone  steps  that  led  to 
Baldpate  Inn's  chief  entrance. 

He  heard  Cargan  and  Max  on  the  veranda 
just  above  his  head.  They  were  speaking  of  trains 
to  Reuton.  In  great  good  humor,  evidently,  they 
started  down  the  steps.  Mr.  Magee  crouched,  re 
solved  that  he  would  spring  the  moment  they 
reached  the  ground.  They  were  on  the  last  step- 
now! 

Suddenly  from  the  other  side  of  the  steps  a 
black  figure  rose,  a  fist  shot  out,  and  Mr.  Max 
went  spinning  like  a  whirling  dervish  down  the 
snowy  path,  to  land  in  a  heap  five  feet  away.  The 
next  instant  the  mayor  of  Reuton  and  the  black 
figure  were  locked  in  terrific  conflict.  Mr.  Magee, 
astounded  by  this  turn  of  affairs,  could  only  stand 
and  stare  through  the  dark. 

For  fifteen  seconds,  muttering,  slipping,  grap- 


MELODRAMA  IN  THE   SNOW      171 

pling,  the  two  figures  waltzed  grotesquely  about 
in  the  falling  snow.  Then  the  mayor's  feet  slid 
from  under  him  on  the  treacherous  white  carpet, 
and  the  two  went  down  together.  As  Mr.  Magee 
swooped  down  upon  them  he  saw  the  hand  of  the 
stranger  find  the  mayor's  pocket,  and  draw  from 
it  the  package  that  had  been  placed  there  in  the 
office  a  few  moments  before. 

Unfortunately  for  the  demands  of  the  drama  in 
which  he  had  become  involved,  Mr.  Magee  had 
never  been  an  athlete  at  the  university.  But  he 
was  a  young  man  of  average  strength  and  agility, 
and  he  had  the  advantage  of  landing  most  unex 
pectedly  on  his  antagonist.  Before  that  gentle 
man  realized  what  had  happened,  Magee  had 
wrenched  the  package  from  his  hand,  thrown  him 
back  on  the  prostrate  form  of  the  highest  official 
pf  Reuton,  and  fled  up  the  steps.  Quickly  the 
stranger  regained  his  feet  and  started  in  pursuit, 
but  he  arrived  at  the  great  front  door  of  Baldpate 
Ian  just  in  time  to  hear  the  lock  click  inside. 

Safe  for  the  moment  behind  a  locked  door,  Mr. 
Magee  paused  to  get  his  breath.  The  glory  of 
battle  filled  his  soul.  It  was  not  until  long  after- 


172  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

ward  that  he  realized  the  battle  had  been  a  mere 
scuffle  in  the  dark.  He  felt  his  cheeks  burn  with 
excitement  like  a  sweet  girl  graduate's — the 
cheeks  of  a  man  who  had  always  prided  himself 
he  was  the  unmoved  cynic  in  any  situation. 

With  no  thought  for  Mr.  Bland,  bound  in  his 
uneasy  chair,  Mr.  Magee  hurried  up  the  broad 
staircase  of  Baldpate.  Now  came  the  most  gor 
geous  scene  of  all.  A  fair-haired  lady;  a  knight 
she  had  sent  forth  to  battle ;  the  knight  returned. 
"You  asked  me  to  bring  you  this,  my  lady."  Busi 
ness  of  surprise  and  joy  on  the  lady's  part — busi 
ness  also,  perhaps,  of  adoration  for  the  knight. 

At  the  right  of  the  stairs  lay  seventeen  and  the 
lady,  at  the  left  a  supposedly  uninhabited  land. 
As  Mr.  Magee  reached  the  second  floor,  blithely 
picturing  the  scene  in  which  he  was  to  play  so  sat 
isfactory  a  part — he  paused.  For  half-way  down 
the  corridor  to  the  left  an  open  door  threw  a  faint 
light  into  the  hall,  and  in  that  light  stood  a  woman 
he  had  never  seen  before.  In  this  order  came  Mr. 
Magee's  impressions  of  her,  fur-coated,  tall,  dark, 
handsome,  with  the  haughty  manner  of  one  en 
gaging  a  chauffeur. 


MELODRAMA  IN   THE   SNOW      173 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said,  "but  are  you  by 
any  chance  Mr.  Magee  ?" 

The  knight  leaned  weakly  against  the  wall,  and 
tried  to  think. 

"I — I  am,"  he  managed  to  say. 

"I'm  so  glad  I've  found  you,"  replied  the  girL 
It  seemed  to  the  dazed  Magee  that  her  dark  eyes 
were  not  overly  happy.  "I  can  not  ask  you  in,  I'm 
afraid.  I  do  not  know  the  custom  on  such  an  oc 
casion — does  anybody  ?  I  am  alone  with  my  maid. 
Hal  Bentley,  when  I  wrote  to  him  for  a  key  to 
this  place,  told  me  of  your  being  here,  and  said 
that  I  was  to  put  myself  under  your  protection." 

Mr.  Magee  arranged  a  bow,  most  of  which  was 
lost  in  the  dark. 

"Delighted,  I'm  sure,"  he  murmured. 

"I  shall  try  not  to  impose  on  you,"  she  went  on. 
"The  whole  affair  is  so  unusual  as  to  be  almost 
absurd.  But  Mr.  Bentley  said  that  you  were — 
very  kind.  He  said  I  might  trust  you.  I  am  in 
great  trouble.  I  have  come  here  to  get  something 
— and  I  haven't  the  least  idea  how  to  proceed.  I 
came  because  I  must  have  it — so  much  depends 
on  it." 


174  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

Prophetically  Mr.  Magee  clutched  in  his  pocket 
the  package  for  which  he  had  done  battle. 

"I  may  be  too  late."  The  girl's  eyes  grew  wide. 
"That  would  be  terribly  unfortunate.  I  do  not 
wish  you  to  be  injured  serving  me — "  She  low 
ered  her  voice.  "But  if  there  is  any  way  in  which 
you  can  help  me  in — in  this  difficulty — I  can 
never  be  grateful  enough.  Down-stairs  in  the  safe 
there  is,  I  believe,  a  package  containing  a  large 
sum  of  money." 

Mr.  Magee's  hand  closed  convulsively  in  his 
pocket. 

"If  there  is  any  way  possible,"  said  the  girl,  "I 
must  obtain  that  package.  I  give  you  my  word  I 
have  as  much  right  to  it  as  any  one  who  will  ap 
pear  at  the  inn.  The  honor  and  happiness  of  one 
who  is  very  dear  to  me  is  involved.  I  ask  you — 
made  bold  as  I  am  by  my  desperation  and  Hal 
Bentley's  assurances — to  aid  me  if  you  find  you 


can." 


With  the  eyes  of  a  man  in  a  dream  Mr.  Magee 
looked  v  into  the  face  of  the  latest  comer  to  Bald- 
pate. 

"Hal  Bently  is  an  old  friend  and  a  bully  chap/' 


MELODRAMA  IN  THE   SNOW      175 

he  said.  "It  will  be  a  great  pleasure  to  serve  a 
friend  of  his/*  He  paused,  congratulating  him 
self  that  these  were  words,  idle  words.  "When 
did  you  arrive,  may  I  ask?" 

"I  believe  you  were  having  dinner  when  I 
came,"  she  answered.  "Mr.  Bentley  gave  me  a 
key  to  the  kitchen  door,  and  we  found  a  back 
stairway.  There  seemed  to  be  a  company  below 
— I  wanted  to  see  only  you." 

"I  repeat,"  said  Mr.  Magee,  "I  shall  be  happy 
to  help  you,  if  I  can."  His  word  to  another  lady, 
he  reflected,  was  binding.  "I  suggest  that  there 
is  no  harm  in  waiting  until  morning." 

"But — I  am  afraid  it  was  tp-night — "  she  be 
gan. 

"I  understand,"  Magee  replied.  "The  plans 
went  wrong.  You  may  safely  let  your  worries 
rest  until  to-morrow."  He  was  on  the  point  of 
adding  something  about  relying  on  him,  but  re 
membered  in  time  which  girl  he  was  addressing. 
"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  to  make  you  more 
comfortable?" 

The  girl  drew  the  fur  coat  closer  about  her 
shoulders.  She  suggested  to  Magee  a  sheltered 


176  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

luxurious  life — he  could  see  her  regaling  young 
men  with  tea  before  a  fireplace  in  a  beautiful 
room — insipid  tea  in  thimble-like  cups. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  she  said.  "I  hardly  ex- 
'pected  to  be  here  the  night  through.  It  is  rather 
cold,  but  I  am  sure  we  have  rugs  and  soats 
enough," 

Mr.  Magee's  duty  was  clear. 

"I'll  build  you  a  fire,"  he  announced.  The  girl 
seemed  distressed  at  the  thought. 

"No,  I  couldn't  let  you,"  she  said.  "I  am  sure 
it  isn't  necessary.  I  will  say  good  night  now." 

"Good  night.    If  there  is  anything  I  can  do — " 

"I  shall  tell  you,"  she  finished,  smiling.  "I  be 
lieve  I  forgot  to  give  you  my  name.  I  am  Myra 
Thornhill,  of  Reuton.  Until  to-morrow."  She 
went  in  and  closed  the  door. 

Mr.  Magee  sat  limply  down  on  the  cold  stair. 
All  the  glory  was  gone  from  the  scene  he  had  pic 
tured  a  moment  ago.  He  had  the  money,  yes,  the 
money  procured  in  valiant  battle,  but  at  the  mo 
ment  he  bore  the  prize  to  his  lady,  another  ap 
peared  from  the  dark  to  claim  it.  What  should 
he  do? 


MELODRAMA  IN   THE   SNOW      177 

He  got  up  and  started  for  number  seventeen. 
The  girl  who  waited  there  was  very  charming  and 
attractive — but  what  did  he  know  about  her? 
What  did  she  want  with  this  money  ?  He  paused. 
This  other  girl  came  from  Hal  Bentley,  a  friend 
of  friends.  And  she  claimed  to  have  every  right 
to  this  precious  package.  What  were  her  exact 
words  ? 

Why  not  wait  until  morning  ?  Perhaps,  in  the 
cold  gray  dawn,  he  would  see  more  clearly  his  way 
through  this  preposterous  tangle.  Anyhow,  it 
would  be  dangerous  to  give  into  any  woman's 
keeping  just  then  a  package  so  earnestly  sought  by 
desperate  men.  Yes,  he  would  wait  until  morn 
ing.  That  was  the  only  reasonable  course. 

Reasonable?  That  was  the  word  he  used.  A 
knight  prating  of  the  reasonable! 

Mr.  Magee  unlocked  the  door  of  number  seven 
and  entered.  Lighting  his  candles  and  prodding 
the  fire,  he  composed  a  note  to  the  waiting  girl  in 
seventeen : 

"Everything  all  right.  Sleep  peacefully.  I  am 
on  the  job.  Will  see  you  to-morrow.  Mr.-— 
Billy.'' 


178  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

Slipping  this  message  under  her  door,  the  ex- 
knight  hurried  away  to  avoid  an  interview,  and 
sat  down  in  his  chair  before  the  fire. 

"I  must  think/'  he  muttered.  "I  must  get  thi» 
thing  straight." 

For  an  hour  he  pondered,  threshing  out  as  best 
he  could  this  mysterious  game  in  which  he  played 
a  leading  part  unequipped  with  a  book  of  rules. 
He  went  back  to  the  very  beginning — even  to  the 
station  at  Upper  Asquewan  Falls  where  the  unde 
niable  charm  of  the  first  of  these  girls  had  won 
him  completely.  He  reviewed  the  arrival  of 
Bland  and  his  babble  of  haberdashery,  of  Pro 
fessor  Bolton  and  his  weird  tale  of  peroxide 
blondes  and  suffragettes,  of  Miss  Norton  and  her 
impossible  mother,  of  Cargan,  hater  of  reform 
ers,  and  Lou  Max,  foe  of  suspicion.  He  thought 
of  the  figure  in  the  dark  at  the  foot  of  the  steps 
that  had  fought  so  savagely  for  the  package  now 
in  his  own  pocket — of  the  girl  who  had  pleaded 
so  convincingly  on  the  balcony  for  his  help — of 
the  colder,  more  sophisticated  woman  who  came 
with  Hal  Bentley's  authority  to  ask  of  him  the 


MELODRAMA  IN   THE   SNOW      179 

same  favor.  Myra  Thornhill  ?  He  had  heard  the 
name,  surely.  But  where  ? 

Mr.  Magee's  thoughts  went  back  to  New  York. 
He  wondered  what  they  would  say  if  they  could 
see  him  now,  whirling  about  in  a  queer  romance 
not  of  his  own  writing — he  who  had  come  to 
Baldpate  Inn  to  get  away  from  mere  romancing 
and  look  into  men's  hearts,  a  philosopher.  He 
laughed  out  loud. 

"To-morrow  is  another  day,"  he  reflected.  "II* 
solve  this  whole  thing  then.  They  can't  go  or 
playing  without  me — I've  got  the  ball." 

He  took  the  package  from  his  pocket.  Its  seals 
had  already  been  broken.  Untying  the  strings,  he 
began  carefully  to  unwrap  the  paper — the  thick 
yellow  banking  manila,  and  then  the  oiled  inner 
wrapping.  So  finally  he  opened  up  the  solid  mass 
of — what?  He  looked  closer.  'Crisp,  beautiful, 
one  thousand  dollar  bills.  Whew !  He  had  never 
seen  a  bill  of  this  size  before.  And  here  were  two 
hundred  of  them. 

He  wrapped  the  package  up  once  more,  and  pre 
pared  for  bed.  Just  as  he  was  about  to  retire,  he 


i8o  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

remembered  Mr.  Bland,  bound  and  gagged  below. 
He  went  into  the  hall  with  the  idea  of  releasing 
the  unlucky  haberdasher,  but  from  the  office  rose 
the  voices  of  the  mayor,  Max,  and  Bland  himself. 
Peace,  evidently,  had  been  declared  between  them. 
Mr.  Magee  returned  to  number  seven,  locked  all 
the  windows,  placed  the  much-sought  package  be 
neath  his  pillow,  and  after  a  half-hour  of  puzzling 
and  tossing,  fell  asleep. 

It  was  still  quite  dark  when  he  awoke  with  a 
start  In  the  blackness  he  could  make  out  a  fig 
ure  standing  by  the  side  of  his  bed.  He  put  his 
hand  quickly  beneath  his  pillow ;  the  package  was 
still  there. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  asked,  sitting  up  in 
bed. 

For  answer,  the  intruder  sprang  through  the 
door  and  disappeared  in  the  darkness  of  the  outer 
room.  Mr.  Magee  followed.  One  of  his  win 
dows  slammed  back  and  forth  in  the  wind.  Slip 
ping  on  a  dressing-gown  and  lighting  a  candle,  he 
made  an  investigation.  The  glass  above  the  lock 
had  been  broken.  Outside,  in  the  snow  on  the  bal 
cony,  were  recent  footprints. 


MELODRAMA  IN   THE   SNOW      181 

Sleepily  Mr.  Magee  procured  the  precious  pack 
age  and  put  it  in  the  pocket  of  his  gown.  Then 
drawing  on  his  shoes,  he  added  a  greatcoat  to 
his  equipment,  took  a  candle,  and  went  out  on  to 
the  balcony. 

-The  storm  had  increased ;  the  snow  flurried  and 
blustered;  the  windows  of  Baldpate  Inn  rattled 
wildly  all  about.  It  was  difficult  to  keep  the  can 
dle  burning  in  that  wind.  Mr.  Magee  followed 
the  footprints  along  the  east  side  of  the  inn  to  the 
corner,  then  along  the  more  sheltered  rear,  and 
finally  to  the  west  side.  On  the  west  was  a  rather 
unlovely  annex  to  the  main  building,  which  in 
creasing  patronage  had  made  necessary.  It  was 
connected  with  the  inn  by  a  covered  passageway 
from  the  second  floor  balcony.  At  the  entrance 
to  this  passageway  the  footprints  stopped. 

Entering  the  dark  passageway,  Mr.  Magee 
made  his  way  to  the  door  of  the  annex.  He  tried 
it.  It  was  locked.  But  as  he  turned  away,  he 
heard  voices  on  the  other  side. 

Mr.  Magee  had  barely  enough  time  to  extin 
guish  his  candle  and  slip  into  the  shadows  of  the 
corner.  The  door  of  the  annex  opened.  A  man 


182  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

stepped  out  into  the  passageway.  He  stood  there, 
The  light  from  a  candle  held  by  some  one  in  the 
doorway  whom  Mr.  Magee  could  not  see  fell  full 
upon  his  face — the  bespectacled  wise  face  of  Pro 
fessor  Thaddeus  Bolton. 

"Better  luck  next  time,"  said  the  professor. 

"Keep  an  eye  pn  him,"  said  the  voice  from  in 
side.  "If  he  tries  to  leave  the  inn  there'll  be  a 
big  row.  We  must  be  in  on  it — and  win." 

"I  imagine,"  said  Professor  Bolton,  smiling  his 
academic  smile,  "that  the  inmates  of  Baldpate 
will  make  to-morrow  a  rather  interesting  day  for 
him." 

"It  will  be  an  interesting  day  for  every  one," 
answered  the  voice. 

"If  I  should  manage  to  secure  the  package,  by 
any  chance,"  the  professor  went  on,  "I  shall  un 
doubtedly  need  your  help  in  getting  away  with  it.1 
Let  us  ai  range  a  signal.  Should  a  window  of  my 
room  be  open  at  any  time  to-morrow,  you  will* 
know  the  money  is  in  my  hands." 

"Very  good,"  replied  the  other.  "Good  night— 
and  good  luck." 

"The  same  to  you,"  answered  Professor  Bol- 


MELODRAMA  IN  THE   SNOW      183 

ton.  The  door  was  closed,  and  the  old  man 
moved  off  down  the  passageway. 

After  him  crept  Mr.  Magee.  He  followed  the 
professor  to  the  east  balcony,  and  saw  him  pause 
at  the  open  window  of  number  seven.  There  the 
old  man  looked  slyly  about,  as  though  in  doubt. 
He  peered  into  the  room,  and  one  foot  was  across 
the  sill  when  Mr.  Magee  came  up  and  touched 
him  on  the  arm. 

Professor  Bolton  leaped  in  evident  fright  out 
upon  the  balcony. 

"It's— it's  a  wonderful  night,"  he  said.  "I 
was  out  for  a  little  walk  on  the  balcony,  enjoying 
it  Seeing  your  open  window,  I  was  afraid — " 

"The  night  you  speak  so  highly  of,"  replied 
Mr.  Magee,  "is  at  your  left.  You  have  lost  your 
way.  Good  night,  Professor." 

He  stepped  inside  and  closed  the  window.  Then 
he  pulled  down  the  curtains  in  both  rooms  of  his 
suite,  and  spent  some  time  exploring.  Finally 
he  paused  before  the  fireplace,  and  with  the  aid 
of  a  knife  unloosed  a  brick.  Under  this  he  placed 
the  package  of  money,  removing  the  traces  of 
his  act  as  best  he  could. 


184  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"Now,"  he  said,  standing  up,  "I'm  a  regular 
hermit  with  a  buried  treasure,  as  per  all  hermit 
specifications.  To-morrow  I'm  going  to  hand  my 
treasure  to  somebody — it's  too  much  for  a  ma» 
who  came  up  here  to  escape  the  excitement  aAdj 
melodrama  of  the  world." 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  past  three 
o'clock.  Entering  the  inner  room,  for  the  second 
time  that  night  he  sought  to  sleep.  "They  can't 
play  without  me — I've  got  the  ball,"  he  repeated 
with  a  smile.  And,  safe  in  this  thought,  he  closed 
his  eyes,  and  slumbered. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  COLD  GRAY  DAWN 

THE  gayest  knight  rmst  have  a  morning  af 
ter.  Mr.  Magee  awakened  to  his  to  find 
suite  seven  wrapped  again  in  its  favorite  polar 
atmosphere.  Filling  the  door  leading  to  the  outer 
room,  he  beheld  the  cause  of  his  awakening — the 
mayor  of  Reuton.  Mr.  Cargan  regarded  him  with 
the  cold  steely  eye  of  a  Disraeli  in  action,  but 
when  he  spoke  he  opened  the  jaws  of  a  cocktail 
mixer. 

"Well,  young  fellow,"  he  remarked,  "it  seems 
to  me  it  was  time  you  got  up  and  faced  the  re 
sponsibilities  of  the  day.  First  of  which,  I  may 
mention,  is  a  little  talk  with  me." 

He  stepped  into  the  room,  and  through  the 
doorway  he  vacated  Mr.  Max  came  slinking. 
The  unlovely  face  of  the  foe  of  suspicion  was 
badly  bruised,  and  he  looked  upon  the  world  with 


186  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

no  cheerful  eye.  Pushing  aside  one  of  the  frail 
bedroom  chairs  as  untrustworthy,  the  mayor  sat 
down  on  the  edge  of  Mr.  Magee' s  bed.  It  creaked 
'in  protest. 

"You  used  us  pretty  rough  last  night  in  the 
snow,"  Cargan  went  on.  "That's  why  I  ain't  dis 
posed  to  go  in  far  kid  gioves  and  diplomacy  this 
morning.  It's  my  experience  that  when  you're 
dealing  with  a  man  who's  got  the  good  old  Irish 
name  of  Magee,  it's  best  to  hit  first  and  debate 
afterward." 

"I — I  used  you  roughly,  Mr.  Cargan?"  said 
Magee. 

"No  debate,  mind  you,"  protested  the  mayor. 
"Lou  and  me  are  making  this  morning  call  to  in 
quire  after  a  little  package  that  went  astray  some 
where  last  night.  There's  two  courses  open  to 
you — hand  over  the  package  or  let  us  take  it. 
I'll  give  you  a  tip — the  first  is  the  best.  If  we 
have  to  take  it,  we  might  get  real  rough  in  our  ac 
tions." 

Mr.  Max  slipped  closer  to  the  bed,  an  ugly  look 
on  his  face.  The  mayor  glared  fixedly  into  Ma- 
gee's  eyes.  The  knight  who  fought  for  fair  ladies 


THE   COLD   GRAY   DAWN        187 

in  the  snow  lay  on  his  pillow  and  considered 
briefly. 

"I  get  what  I  go  after,"  remarked  Cargan  em 
phatically. 

"Yes,"  sparred  Magee,  "but  the  real  point  is 
keeping  what  you  get  after  you've  gone  after  it. 
You  didn't  make  much  of  an  impression  on  me 
last  night  in  that  line,  Mr.  Cargan." 

"I  never  cared  much  for  humor,"  replied  the 
mayor,  "especially  at  this  early  hour  of  the  morn 
ing." 

"And  I  hate  a  fresh  guy,"  put  in  Max,  "like 
poison." 

"I'm  not  fresh,"  Mr.  Magee  smiled,  "I'm  stat 
ing  facts.  You  say  you've  come  for  that  pack 
age.  All  right — but  you've  come  to  the  wrong 
room.  I  haven't  got  it." 

"The  hell  you  haven't,"  roared  the  mayor. 
"Lou,  look  about  a  bit." 

"Look  about  all  you  like,"  agreed  Magee.  "You 
won't  find  it.  Mr.  Cargan,  I  admit  that  I  laid 
for  you  last  night.  I  saw  you  open  the  safe  ac 
cording  to  the  latest  approved  methods,  and  I  saw 
you  come  forth  with  a  package  of  money.  But  I 


i88  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

wasn't  rough  with  you.  I  might  have  been,  to  be 
frank,  but  somebody  beat  me  to  it." 

"Who?" 

,  "The  man  with  the  seventh  key,  I  suppose. 
The  man  Bland  heard  walking  about  last  night 
when  we  were  at  dinner.  Don't  tell  me  you  didn't 
see  him  in  that  mix-up  at  the  foot  of  the  steps?" 

"Well — I  did  think  there  was  another  guy," 
the  mayor  answered,  "but  Lou  said  I  was  crazy." 

"Lou  does  you  an  injustice.  There  was  an 
other  guy,  and  if  you  are  anxious  to  recover  your 
precious  package,  I  advise  you  to  wake  him  up 
to  the  responsibilities  of  the  day,  not  me." 

The  mayor  considered.  Mr.  Max,  who  had 
hastily  made  the  rounds  of  the  three  rooms,  came 
back  with  empty  hands. 

"Well,"  said  the  mayor,  "I  might  as  well  admit 
it.  I'm  up  in  the  air.  I  don't  know  just  at  this 
minute  where  to  get  off.  But  that  state  of 
affairs  don't  last  long  with  me,  young  fellow. 
I'll  go  to  the  bottom  of  this  before  the  day 
is  out,  believe  me.  And  if  I  can't  do  anything 
else,  I'll  take  you  back  to  Reuton  myself  and 
throw  you  in  jail  for  robbery." 


THE  COLD   GRAY   DAWN        189 

"I  wouldn't  do  that,"  smiled  Magee.  "Think 
of  the  awful  job  of  explaining  to  the  white  neck 
tie  crowd  how  you  happened  to  be  dynamiting  a 
safe  on  Baldpate  Mountain  at  midnight." 

"Oh,  I  guess  I  can  get  around  that,"  said  the 
mayor.  "That  money  belongs  to  a  friend  of  mine 
—Andy  Rutter.  I  happen  to  go  to  the  inn  for 
a  little  rest,  and  I  grab  you  dynamiting  the  safe. 
1*11  keep  an  eye  on  you  to-day,  Mr.  Magee.  And 
let  me  tell  you  now  that  if  I  catch  you  or  any  of 
the  bunch  that's  with  you  trying  to  make  a  get 
away  from  Baldpate,  there's  going  to  be  a  war 
break  out." 

"I  don't  know  about  the  other  hermits,"' 
laughed  Magee,  "but  personally,  I  expect  to  be 
here  for  several  weeks  to  come.  Whew !  It's  cold 
in  here.  Where's  the  hermit?  Why  hasn't  he 
been  up  to  fix  my  fire  ?" 

"Yes,  where  is  he?"  repeated  Mr.  Cargan. 
"That's  what  everybody'd  like  to  know.  He 
hasn't  showed  up.  Not  a  sign  of  breakfast,  and 
me  as  hollow  as  a  reformer's  victory." 

"He's  backslid,"  cried  Magee. 

"The   quitter,"   sneered   Max.     "It's   only   a 


190  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

quitter  would  live  on  the  mountain  in  a  shack, 
anyhow." 

"You're  rather  hard  on  poor  old  Peters,"  re- 
narked  Magee,  "but  when  I  think  that  I  have 
to  get  up  and  dress  in  a  refrigerating  plant — I 
can't  say  I  blame  you.  If  only  the  fire  were 
lighted—" 

He  smiled  his  most  ingratiating  smile  on  his 
companion. 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Cargan,  you're  up  and 
dressed.  I've  read  a  lot  of  magazine  articles 
about  you,  and  they  one  and  all  agree  that  you're 
a  good  fellow.  You'll  find  kindling  and  paper 
beside  the  hearth." 

"What!"  The  mayor's  roar  seemed  to  shake 
the  windows.  "Young  man,  with  a  nerve  like 
yours,  you  could  wheedle  the  price  of  a  battle 
ship  from  Carnegie.  I — I — "  He  stood  for  a 
moment  gazing  almost  in  awe  at  Magee.  Then 
he  burst  forth  into  a  whole-souled  laugh.  "I  am 
a  good  fellow,"  he  said.  "I'll  show  you." 

He  went  into  the  other  room,  and  despite  the 
horrified  protests  of  Lou  Max,  busied  himself 
amid  the  ashes  of  the  fireplace.  When  he  had 


THE  COLD  GRAY  DAWN        191 

a  blaze  under  way,  Mr.  Magee  came  shivering 
from  the  other  room  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"Mr.  Cargan,"  he  laughed,  "you're  a  prince." 
He  noted  with  interest  that  the  mayor's  broad 
shoes  were  mighty  near  two  hundred  thousand 
dollars. 

While  Mr.  Magee  drew  on  his  clothes,  the 
mayor  and  Max  sat  thoughtfully  before  the  fire, 
the  former  with  his  pudgy  hands  folded  over  the 
vast  expanse  where  no  breakfast  reposed.  Mr. 
Magee  explained  to  them  that  the  holder  of  the 
sixth  key  had  arrived. 

"A  handsome  young  lady,"  he  remarked ;  "her 
name  is  Myra  Thornhill." 

"Old  Henry  Thornhill's  daughter,"  reflected 
the  mayor.  "Well,  seems  I've  sort  of  lost  the 
habit  of  being  surprised  now.  I  tell  you,  Lou, 
we're  breaking  into  the  orchid  division  up  here." 

While  Mr.  Magee  shaved — in  ice-cold  water, 
another  black  mark  against  the  Hermit  of  Bald- 
pate — he  turned  over  in  his  mind  the  events  of 
the  night  before.  The  vigil  in  the  office,  the  plead 
ing  of  the  fair  girl  on  the  balcony,  the  battle  by 
the  steps,  the  sudden  appearance  of  Miss  Thorn- 


I92  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

hill,  the  figure  in  his  room,  the  conversation  by 
the  annex  door — like  a  moving  picture  film  the 
story  of  that  weird  night  unrolled  itself.  The  film 
was  not  yet  at  an  end.  He  had  given  himself  the 
night  to  think.  Soon  he  would  stand  before  the 
girl  of  the  station ;  soon  he  must  answer  her  ques 
tions.  What  was  he  to  do  with  the  fortune  that 
lay  beneath  the  feet  of  the  mayor  of  Reuton  at 
this  minute  ?  He  hardly  knew. 

He  was  ready  to  descend  at  last,  and  came  into 
the  parlor  of  his  suite  with  greatcoat  and  hat.  In 
reply  to  Mr.  Cargan's  unasked  question,  he  said : 

"I'm  going  up  the  mountain  presently  to  reason 
with  our  striking  cook." 

"You  ain't  going  to  leave  this  inn,  Magee," 
said  the  mayor. 

"Not  even  to  bring  back  a  cook.  Come,  Mr. 
Cargan,  be  reasonable.  You  may  go  with  ine,  if 
,you  suspect  my  motives." 

They  went  out  into  the  hall,  and  Mr.  Magee 
passed  down  the  corridor  to  the  farther  end, 
where  he  rapped  on  the  door  of  Miss  Thornhill's 
room.  She  appeared  almost  immediately,  buried 
beneath  furs  and  wraps. 


THE  COLD   GRAY   DAWN        193 

"You  must  be  nearly  frozen,"  remarked  Mr. 
Magee  pityingly.  "You  and  your  maid  come 
down  to  the  office.  I  want  you  to  meet  the  other 
guests." 

"I'll  come,"  she  replied.  "Mr.  Magee,  I've  a 
confession  to  make.  I  invented  the  maid.  It 
seemed  so  horribly  unconventional  and  shocking 
— I  couldn't  admit  that  I  was  alone.  That  was 
why  I  wouldn't  let  you  build  a  fire  for  me." 

"Don't  worry,"  smiled  Magee.  "You'll  find 
we  have  all  the  conveniences  up  here.  I'll  present 
you  to  a  chaperon  shortly — a  Mrs.  Norton,  who 
is  here  with  her  daughter.  Allow  me  to  introduce 
Mr.  Cargan  and  Mr.  Max." 

The  girl  bowed  with  a  rather  startled  air,  and 
Mr.  Cargan  mumbled  something  that  had  "pleas 
ure"  in  it.  In  the  office  they  found  Professor 
Bolton  and  Mr.  Bland  sitting  gloomily  before  the 
fireplace. 

"Got  the  news,  Magee?"  asked  the  haber 
dasher.  "Peters  has  done  a  disappearing  act." 

It  was  evident  to  Magee  that  everybody  looked 
upon  Peters  as  his  creature,  and  laid  the  hermit's 
sins  at  his  door.  He  laughed. 


194  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE   s 

"I'm  going  to  head  a  search  party  shortly,"  he 
said.  "Don't  I  detect  the  odor  of  coffee  in  the 
distance  ?" 

"Mrs.  Norton/'  remarked  Professor  Bolton 
dolefully,  "has  kindly  consented  to  do  what  she 


can." 


The  girl  of  the  station  came  through  the  dining- 
room  door.  It  was  evident  she  had  no  share  in 
the  general  gloom  that  the  hermit's  absence  cast 
over  Baldpate.  Her  eyes  were  bright  with  the 
glories  of  morning  on  a  mountain;  in  their 
depths  there  was  no  room  for  petty  annoyances. 

"Good  morning,"  she  said  to  Mr.  Magee.  "Isn't 
it  bracing  ?  Have  you  been  outside  ?  Oh,  I—-" 

"Miss  Norton  —  Miss  Thornhill,"  explained 
Magee.  "Miss  Thornhill  has  the  sixth  key,  you 
know.  She  came  last  night  without  any  of  us 
knowing." 

,  With  lukewarm  smiles  the  two  girls  shook 
hands.  Outwardly  the  glances  they  exchanged 
were  nonchalant  and  casual,  but  somehow  Mr. 
Magee  felt  that  among  the  matters  they  estab 
lished  were  social  position,  wit,  cunning,  guile, 
and  taste  in  dress. 


THE  COLD   GRAY   DAWN        195 

"May  I  help  with  the  coffee?"  asked  Miss 
Thornhill. 

"Only  to  drink  it,"  replied  the  girl  of  the  sta 
tion.  "It's  all  made  now,  you  see." 

As  if  in  proof  of  this,  Mrs.  Norton  appeared  in 
the  dining-room  door  with  a  tfay,  and  simulta 
neously  opened  an  endless  monologue : 

"I  don't  know  what  you  men  will  say  to  this, 
I'm  sure — nothing  in  the  house  but  some  coffee 
and  a  few  crackers — not  even  any  canned  soup, 
and  I  thought  from  the  way  things  went  yester 
day  he  had  ten  thousand  cans  of  it  at  the  very 
least — but  men  are  all  alike — what  name  did  you 
say? — oh  yes,  Miss  Thornhill,  pleased  to  meet 
you,  I'm  sure — excuse  my  not  shaking  hands — as 
I  was  saying,  men  are  all  alike — Norton  thought 
if  he  brought  home  a  roast  on  Saturday  night  it 
ought  to  last  the  week  out — " 

She  rattled  on.  Unheeding  her  flow  of  talk, 
the  hermits  of  Baldpate  Inn  swallowed  the  coffee 
she  offered.  When  the  rather  unsatisfactory  sub 
stitute  for  breakfast  was  consumed,  Mr.  Magee 
rose  briskly. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "I'm  going  to  run  up  to  the 


196  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

hermit's  shack  and  reason  with  him  as  best  I  caa 
I  shall  paint  in  touching  colors  our  sad  plight.  If 
the  man  has  an  atom  of  decency — " 

"A  walk  on  the  mountain  in  the  morning,"  said 
Miss  Thornhill  quickly.  "Splendid.  I — " 

"Wonderful,"  put  in  Miss  Norton.  "I,  for  one, 
can't  resist.  Even  though  I  haven't  been  invited, 
I'm  going  along."  She  smiled  sweetly.  She  had 
beaten  the  other  girl  by  the  breadth  of  a  hair,  and 
she  knew  it.  New  glories  shone  in  her  eyes. 

"Good  for  you !"  said  Magee.  The  evil  hour  of 
explanations  was  at  hand,  surely.  "Run  up  and 
get  your  things." 

While  Miss  Norton  was  gone,  Mr.  Cargan 
and  Lou  Max  engaged  in  earnest  converse  near 
a  window.  After  which  Mr.  Max  pulled  on  his 
overcoat. 

"I  ain't  been  invited  either,"  he  said,  "but  I 
reckon  I'll  go  along.  I  always  wanted  to  see  what 
a  hermit  lived  like  when  he's  really  buckled  down 
to  the  hermit  business.  And  then  a  walk  in  the 
morning  has  always  been  my  first  rule  for  health. 
You  don't  mind,  do  you  ?" 

"Who  am  I,"  asked  Magee,  "that  I  should 


THE  COLD   GRAY   DAWN        197 

stand  between  you  and  health?  Come  along,  by 
all  means." 

With  the  blue  corduroy  suit  again  complete, 
and  the  saucy  hat  perched  on  her  blond  head, 
Miss  Norton  ran  down  the  stairs  and  received  the 
news  that  Mr.  Max  also  was  enthralled  by  the 
possibilities  of  a  walk  up  Baldpate.  The  three 
went  out  through  the  front  door,  and  found  un 
der  the  snow  a  hint  of  the  path  that  led  to  the 
shack  of  the  post-card  merchant. 

"Will  you  go  ahead?"  asked  Magee  of  Max. 

"Sorry,"  grinned  Max,  "but  I  guess  I'll  bring 
up  the  rear." 

"Suspicion,"  said  Mr.  Magee,  shaking  his  head, 
"has  caused  a  lot  of  trouble  in  the  world.  Re 
member  the  cruelty  practised  on  Pueblo  Sam." 

"I  do,"  replied  Mr.  Max,  "and  it  nearly  breaks 
my  heart.  But  there's  a  little  matter  I  forgot  to 
mention  last  night.  Suspicion  is  all  right  in  its 
place." 

"Where's  that?"  asked  Mr.  Magee. 

Mr.  Max  tapped  his  narrow  chest.  "Here," 
he  said.  So  the  three  began  the  climb,  Mr.  Magee 
tnd  the  girl  ahead,  Mr.  Max  leering  at  their  heels. 


198  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

The  snow  still  fell,  and  the  picture  of  the  world 
was  painted  in  grays  and  whites.  At  some  points 
along  the  way  to  the  hermit's  abode  it  had  drifted 
deep;  at  others  the  foot-path  was  swept  almost 
bare  by  the  wind.  For  a  time  Mr.  Max  kept  so 
close  that  the  conversation  of  the  two  in  the  lead 
was  necessarily  of  the  commonplaces  of  the  wind 
and  sky  and  mountain. 

Covertly  Mr.  Magee  glanced  at  the  girl  striding 
along  by  his  side.  The  red  flamed  in  her  cheeks ; 
her  long  lashes  were  flecked  with  the  white  of 
the  snow ;  her  face  was  such  a  one  as  middle-aged 
men  dream  of  while  their  fat  wives  read  the 
evening  paper's  beauty  hints  at  their  side.  Far 
beyond  the  ordinary  woman  was  she  desirable 
and  pleasing.  Mr.  Magee  told  himself  he  had 
been  a  fool.  For  he  who  had  fought  so  valiantly 
for  her  heart's  desire  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  had 
faltered  when  the  time  came  to  hand  her  the  prize. 
Why?  What  place  had  caution  in  the  wiild 
scheme  of  the  night  before?  None,  surely.  And 
yet  he,  dolt,  idiot,  coward,  had  in  the  moment  of 
triumph  turned  cautious.  Full  confession,  he  de 
cided,  was  the  only  way  out. 


THE   COLD   GRAY   DAWN        199 

Mr.  Max  was  panting  along  quite  ten  feet  be 
hind.  Over  her  shoulder  the  girl  noted  this ;  she 
turned  her  questioning  eyes  on  Magee;  he  felt 
that  his  moment  had  come. 

"I  don't  know  how  to  begin,"  muttered  the  nov 
elist  whose  puppets*  speeches  had  always  been  so 
apt.  "Last  night  you  sent  me  on  a  sort  of — quest 
for  the  golden  fleece.  I  didn't  know  who  had  been 
fleeced,  or  what  the  idea  was.  But  I  fared  forth, 
as  they  say.  I  got  it  for  you — " 

The  eyes  of  the  girl  glowed  happily.  She  was 
beaming. 

"I'm  so  glad,"  she  said.  "But  why— why  didn't 
you  give  it  to  me  last  night  ?  It  would  have  meant 
so  much  if  you  had." 

"That,"  replied  Mr.  Magee,  "is  what  I'm  com 
ing  to — very  reluctantly.  Did  you  note  any  spirit 
of  caution  in  the  fellow  who  set  forth  on  youf 
quest,  and  dropped  over  the  balcony  rail?  You 
did  not.  I  waited  on  the  porch  and  saw  Max  tap 
the  safe.  I  saw  him  and  Cargan  come  out.  I 
waited  for  them.  Just  as  I  was  about  to  jump  on 
them,  somebody — the  man  with  the  seventh  key, 
I  guess — did  it  for  me.  There  was  a  scuffle.  I 


200  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

joined  it  I  emerged  with  the  package  everybody 
seems  so  interested  in." 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl  breathlessly.  "And  then— " 

"I  started  to  bring  it  to  you,"  went  on  Magee, 
glancing  over  his  shoulder  at  Max.  "I  was  all 
aglow  with  romance,  and  battle,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing.  I  pictured  the  thrill  of  handing  you 
the  thing  you  had  asked.  I  ran  up-stairs.  At  the 
head  of  the  stairs— I  saw  her." 

The  light  died  in  her  eyes.  Reproach  entered 
there. 

"Yes,"  continued  Magee,  "your  knight  errant 
lost  his  nerve.  He  ceased  to  run  on  schedule. 
She,  too,  asked  me  for  that  package  of  money." 

"And  you  gave  it  to  her,"  said  the  girl  scorn 
fully. 

"Oh,  no,"  answered  Magee  quickly.  "Not  so 
bad  as  that.  I  simply  sat  down  on  the  steps  and 
thought.  I  got  cautious.  I  decided  to  wait  until 
to-day.  I — I  did  wait." 

He  paused.  The  girl  strode  on,  looking  straight 
ahead.  Mr.  Magee  thought  of  adding  that  he  had 
felt  it  might  be  dangerous  to  place  a  package  so 


THE   COLD    GRAY   DAWN        201 

voraciously  desired  in  her  frail  hands.  He  de 
cided  he'd  better  not,  on  second  thought. 

"I  know/'  he  said,  "what  you  think.  Fm  a  fine 
specimen  of  a  man  to  send  on  a  hunt  like  that. 
A  weak-kneed  mollycoddle  who  passes  into  a 
state  of  coma  at  the  crucial  moment.  But — I'm 
going  to  give  you  that  package  yet." 

The  girl  turned  her  head.  Mr.  Magee  saw  that 
her  eyes  were  misty  with  tears. 

"You're  playing  with  me,"  she  said  brokenly. 
"I  might  have  known.  And  I  trusted  you.  You're 
in  the  game  with  the  others — and  I  thought  you 
weren't.  I  staked  my  whole  chance  of  success  on 
you — now  you're  making  sport  of  me.  You 
never  intended  to  give  me  that  money — you  don't 
intend  to  now." 

"On  my  word,"  cried  Magee,  "I  do  intend  to 
give  it  to  you.  The  minute  we  get  back  to  the 
Inn.  I  have  it  safe  in  my  room." 

"Give  it  to  her,"  said  the  girl  bitterly.  "Why 
don't  you  give  it  to  her?" 

Oh,  the  perversity  of  women ! 

"It's  you  I  want  to  give  it  to,"  replied  Magee 


£02     SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

warmly.  "I  don't  know  what  was  the  matter 
with  me  last  night.  I  was  a  fool.  You  don't 
believe  in  me,  I  know — "  Her  face  was  cold  and 
expressionless. 

"And  I  wanted  to  believe  in  you — so  much/* 
she  said. 

"Why  did  you  want  to?"  cried  Magee. 
"Why?" 

She  plodded  on  through  the  snow. 

"You  must  believe,"  he  pleaded.  "I  don't 
know  what  all  this  is  about — on  my  word  of 
honor.  But  I  want  to  give  you  that  money,  and  I 
will — the  minute  we  get  back  to  the  inn.  Will 
you  believe  then?  Will  you?" 

"I  hate  you,"  said  the  girl  simply. 

She  should  not  have  said  that.  As  far  back 
as  he  could  remember,  such  opposition  had  stirred 
Mr.  Magee  to  wild  deeds.  He  opened  his  mouth 
.and  words  flowed  forth.  What  were  the  words? 

"I  love  you !  I  love  you !  Ever  since  that  mo 
ment  in  the  station  I  have  loved  you!  I  love 
you!" 

Faintly  he  heard  himself  saying  it  over  and 
over.  By  the  gods,  he  was  proposing!  Inanely, 


THE  GOLD   GRAY   DAWN        203 

in  words  of  one  syllable,  as  the  butcher's  boy 
might  have  told  his  love  to  the  second  kitchen 
maid. 

"I  love  you,"  he  continued.     Idiot! 

Often  Mr.  Magee  had  thought  of  the  moment 
when  he  would  tell  his  love  to  a  woman.  It  was 
a  moment  of  dim  lights,  music  perhaps  in  the  dis 
tance,  two  souls  caught  up  in  the  magic  of  the 
moonlit  night — a  pretty  graceful  speech  from 
him,  a  sweet  gracious  surrender  from  the  girl. 
And  this — instead. 

"I  love  you."  In  heaven's  name,  was  he  never 
going  to  stop  saying  it?  "I  want  you  to  believe." 

Bright  morning  on  the  mountain,  a  girl  in  an 
angry  mood  at  his  side,  a  seedy  chaperon  on  his 
trail,  an  erring  cook  ahead.  Good  lord!  He  re 
called  that  a  fellow  novelist,  whose  love  scenes 
were  regarded  as  models  by  young  people  suffer 
ing  the  tender  passion,  had  once  confessed  that  he 
proposed  to  his  wife  on  a  street-car,  and  was  ac-( 
cepted  just  as  the  conductor  handed  him  his 
transfers.  Mr.  Magee  had  been  scornful.  He 
could  never  be  scornful  again.  By  a  tremendous 
effort  he  avoided  repeating  his  childish  refrain. 


204     SEVEN   KEYS  TO   BALDPATE 

The  girl  deliberately  stopped.  There  was  never 
less  of  sweet  gracious  surrender  in  a  suffragette 
hurling  a  stone  through  a  shop-keeper's  window. 
She  eyed  Mr.  Magee  pityingly,  and  they  stood 
until  Mr.  Max  caught  up  with  them. 

"So  that's  the  hermit's  shack,"  said  Max,  in 
dicating  the  little  wooden  hut  at  which  they  had 
arrived.  "A  funny  place  for  a  guy  to  bury  him 
self.  I  should  think  he'd  get  to  longing  for  the 
white  lights  and  the  table  d'hotes  with  red  wine." 

"A  very  unromantic  speech,"  reproved  the  girl. 
"You  should  be  deeply  thrilled  at  the  thought  of 
penetrating  the  secrets  of  the  hermitage.  I  am. 
Are  you,  Mr.  Magee  ?" 

She  smiled  up  at  Magee,  and  he  was  in  that 
state  where  he  thought  that  in  the  blue  depths 
of  her  eyes  he  saw  the  sunny  slopes  of  the  Islands 
of  the  blest. 

"I — "  he  caught  himself  in  time.  He  would 
not  be  idiot  enough  to  babble  it  again.  He  pulled 
himself  together.  "I'm  going  to  make  you  believe 
in  me,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  his  old  jauntiness. 

Mr.  Max  was  knocking  with  characteristic 
loudness  at  the  hermit's  door. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  FALSEHOOD  UNDER  THE  PALMS 

AKE  me  a  willow  cabin  at  your  gate/9 
quoted  Mr.  Magee,  looking  at  the  her 
mit's  shack  with  interest. 

"U-m-m,"  replied  Miss  Norton.  Thus  beauti 
ful  sentiments  frequently  fare,  even  at  the  hands 
of  the  most  beautiful.  Mr.  Magee  abandoned  his 
project  of  completing  the  speech. 

The  door  of  the  hermit's  abode  opened  before 
Mr.  Max's  masterful  knock,  and  the  bearded  lit 
tle  man  appeared  on  the  threshold.  He  was  clad 
in  a  purple  dressing-gown  that  suggested  some 
woman  had  picked  it.  Surely  no  man  could  have 

fallen  victim  to  that  riot  of  color. 

i 

"Come  in,"  said  the  hermit,  in  a  tone  so  color 
less  it  called  added  attention  to  the  gown.    "Miss, 
you  have  the  chair.    You'll  have  to  be  contented 
with  that  soap-box  davenport,  gentlemen.  Well?" 
205 


206  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

He  stood  facing  them  in  the  middle  of  his  her 
mitage.  With  curious  eyes  they  examined  its 
architecture.  Exiled  hands  had  built  it  of  poles 
and  clay  and  a  reliable  brand  of  roofing.  In  the' 
largest  room,  where  they  sat,  were  chairs,  a  table, 
and  a  book-shelf  hammered  together  from  stray 
boards — furniture  midway  between  that  in  a  hut 
on  a  desert  isle  and  that  of  a  home  made  happy 
from  the  back  pages  of  a  woman's  magazine. 
On  the  wall  were  various  posters  that  defined  the 
hermit's  taste  in  art  as  inflammatory,  bold,  ar 
resting.  Through  one  door  at  the  rear  they 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  tiny  kitchen;  through  an 
other  the  white  covering  of  a  hall-room  cot  could 
be  seen. 

"Well?"  repeated  Mr.  Peters.  "I  suppose 
you're  a  delegation,  so  to  speak  ?" 

"A  cold  unfeeling  word,"  objected  Mr.  Magee. 

"We  have  come  to  plead" — began  Miss  Nor 
ton,  turning  her  eyes  at  their  full  candle-power  on 
the  hermit's  bearded  face. 

"I  beg  pardon,  miss,"  interrupted  Mr.  Peters, 
"but  it  ain't  any  use.  I've  thought  it  all  out — in 
the  night  watches,  as  the  poet  says.  I  came  up 


UNDER   THE   PALMS  207 

here  to  be  alone.  I  can't  be  a  hermit  and  a  cook, 
too.  I  can't  and  be  true  to  myself.  No,  you'll 
have  to  accept  my  resignation,  to  take  effect  at 


once." 


He  sat  down  on  an  uncertain  chair  and  regard 
ed  them  sorrowfully.  His  long  well-shaped  fin 
gers  clutched  the  cord  of  the  purple  gown. 

"It  isn't  as  though  we  were  asking  you  to  give 
tip  the  hermit  business  for  good,"  argued  Magee. 
"It's  just  for  a  short  time — maybe  only  for  a  few 
days.  I  should  think  you  would  welcome  the 
diversion." 

Mr.  Peters  shook  his  head  vigorously.  The 
brown  curls  waved  flippantly  about  his  shoulders. 

"My  instincts,"  he  replied,  "are  away  from  the 
crowd.  I  explained  that  to  you  when  we  first 
met,  Mr.  Magee." 

"Any  man,"  commented  Mr.  Max,  "  ought  to 
be  able  to  strangle  his  instincts  for  a  good  salary, 
\  payable  in  advance." 

"You  come  here,"  said  the  hermit  with  annoy 
ance,  "and  you  bring  with  you  the  sentiments  of 
the  outside  world — the  world  I  have  foresworn, 
.Don't  do  it.  I  ask  you/' 


208  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"I  don't  get  you,"  reflected  Mr.  Max.  "No, 
pal,  I  don't  quite  grab  this  hermit  game.  It  ain't 
human  nature,  I  say.  Way  up  here  miles  from 
the  little  brass  rail  and  the  sporting  extra,  and 
other  things  that  make  life  worth  living.  It's 
beyond  me." 

"I'm  not  asking  your  approval,"  replied  the 
hermit.  "All  I  ask  is  to  be  let  alone." 

"Let  me  speak,"  said  Miss  Norton.  "Mr. 
Peters  and  I  have  been  friends,  you  might  say, 
for  three  years.  It  was  three  years  ago  my  awed 
eyes  first  fell  upon  him,  selling  his  post-cards  at 
the  inn.  He  was  to  me  then — the  true  romance — 
the  man  to  whom  the  world  means  nothing  with 
out  a  certain  woman  at  his  side.  That  is  what 
he  has  meant  to  all  the  girls  who  came  to  Bald- 
pate.  He  isn't  going  to  shatter  my  ideal  of  him 
— he  isn't  going  to  refuse  a  lady  in  distress.  You 
will  come  for  just  a  little  while,  won't  you,  Mr. 
Peters?" 

But  Peters  shook  his  head  again. 

"I  dislike  women  as  a  sex,"  he  said,  "but  I've 
always  been  gentle  and  easy  with  isolated  exam 
ples  of  'em.  It  ain't  my  style  to  turn  'em  dowa 


UNDER   THE   PALMS  209 

But  this  is  asking  too  much.  I'm  sorry.  But  I 
got  to  be  true  to  my  oath — I  got  to  be  a  hermit." 

"Maybe,"  sneered  Mr.  Max,  "he's  got  good 
reason  for  being  a  hermit.  Maybe  there's  brass 
buttons  and  blue  uniforms  mixed  up  in  it." 

"You  come  from  the  great  world  of  suspicion," 
answered  the  hermit,  turning  reproving  eyes  upon 
faim.  "Your  talk  is  natural — it  goes  with  the  life 
you  lead.  But  it  isn't  true." 

"And  Mr.  Max  is  the  last  who  should  insinu 
ate,"  rebuked  Mr.  Magee.  "Why,  only  last  night 
he  denounced  suspicion,  and  bemoaned  the  fact 
that  there  is  so  much  of  it  in  the  world." 

"Well  he  might,"  replied  the  hermit.  "Suspi 
cion  is  the  key-note  of  modern  life — especially  in 
New  York."  He  drew  the  purple  dressing-gown 
closer  about  his  plump  form.  "I  remember  the 
last  time  I  was  in  the  big  town,  seeing  a  crowd  of 
men  in  the  grill-room  of  the  Hoffman  House. 
One  of  them — long,  lean,  like  an  eel — stooped 
down  and  whispered  in  the  ear  of  a  little  fellow 
with  a  diamond  horseshoe  desecrating  his  haber 
dashery,  and  pointing  to  another  man  near  by. 
'No,  I  won't/  says  the  man  with  the  diamonds, 


210  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

'I  don't  introduce  nobody  to  nobody.  Let  every 
man  play  his  own  game,  I  say/  That's  New 
York.  That's  the  essence  of  the  town.  'I  intro 
duce  nobody  to  nobody.' " 

"It  seems  odd,"  remarked  Mr.  Magee,  "to  hear 
you  speak  of  the  time  you  walked  on  pavements." 

"I  haven't  always  been  on  Baldpate  Mountain," 
replied  the  hermit.  "Once  I,  too,  paid  taxes  and 
wore  a  derby  hat  and  sat  in  barbers'  chairs.  Yes, 
I  sat  in  'em  in  many  towns,  in  many  corners  of 
this  little  round  globe.  But  that's  all  over  now." 

The  three  visitors  gazed  at  Mr.  Peters  with  a 
new  interest 

"New  York,"  said  Mr.  Max  softly,  as  a  better 
man  might  have  spoken  the  name  of  the  girl  he 
loved.  "Ifs  a  great  little  Christmas  tree.  The 
candles  are  always  burning  and  the  tinsel  presents 
always  look  good  to  me." 

The  hermit's  eyes  strayed  far  away — down  the 
mountain — and  beyond. 

"New  York,"  said  he,  and  his  tone  was  that  in 
which  Max  had  said  the  words.  "A  great  little 
Christmas  tree  it  is,  with  fine  presents  for  the 
reaching.  Sometimes,  at  night  here,  I  see  it  as  it 


UNDER  THE   PALMS  211 

was  four  years  ago — I  see  the  candles  lit  on  the 
Great  White  Way — I  hear  the  elevated  roar,  and 
the  newsboys  shout,  and  Diamond  Jim  Brady 
applauding  at  a  musical  comedy's  first  night. 
New  York!" 

Mr.  Max  rose  pompously  and  pointed  a  yellow 
finger  at  the  Hermit  of  Baldpate  Mountain. 

"I  got  you!"  he  cried  in  triumph.  "I'm  wise! 
You  want  to  go  back." 

A  half-hearted  smile  crossed  the  visible  portion 
of  the  hermit's  face. 

"I  guess  I'm  about  the  poorest  liar  in  the 
world,"  he  said.  "I  never  got  away  with  but  one 
lie  in  my  life,  and  that  was  only  for  a  little  while. 
It  was  a  masterpiece  while  it  lasted,  too.  But  it 
was  my  only  hit  as  a  liar.  Usually  I  fail,  as  I 
have  failed  now.  I  lied  when  I  said  I  couldn't 
cook  for  you  because  I  had  to  be  true  to  my  her 
mit's  oath.  That  isn't  the  reason.  I'm  afraid." 

"Afraid?"  echoed  Mr.  Magee. 

"Scared,"  said  Mr.  Peters,  "of  temptation. 
Your  seventh  son  of  a  seventh  son  friend  here 
has  read  my  palm  O.  K.  I  want  to  go  back. 
Not  in  the  summer,  when  the  inn  blazes  like 


212  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

Broadway  every  evening,  and  I  can  sit  here  and 
^listen  to  the  latest  comic  opera  tunes  come  drift 
ing  up  from  the  casino,  and  go  down  and  mingle 
with  the  muslin  brigade  any  time  I  want,  and 
see  the  sympathetic  look  in  their  eyes  as  they  buy 
my  postals.  It  ain't  then  I  want  to  go  back.  If  s 
when  fall  comes,  and  the  trees  on  the  mountain 
ire  bare,  and  Quimby  locks  up  the  inn,  and 
there's  only  the  wind  and  me  on  the  mountain 
— then  I  get  the  fever.  I  haven't  the  post-card 
trade  to  think  of — so  I  think  of  Ellen,  and  New 
York.  She's — my  wife.  New  York — it's  my 
town. 

"That's  why  I  can't  come  among  you  to 
cook.  It'd  be  leading  me  into  temptation  greater 
than  I  could  stand.  I'd  hear  your  talk,  and  like 
as  not  when  you  went  away  I'd  shave  off  this 
beard,  and  burn  the  manuscript  of  Woman,  and 
go  down  into  the  marts  of  trade.  Last  night  I 
walked  the  floor  till  two.  I  can't  stand  such 
temptation." 

Mr.  Peters'  auditors  regarded  him  in  silence. 
He  rose  and  moved  toward  the  kitchen  door. 

"Now  you  understand  how  it  is,"  he  said. 


UNDER  THE   PALMS  213 

"Perhaps  you  will  go  and  leave  me  to  my  bak 
ing." 

"One  minute,"  objected  Mr.  Magee.  "You 
spoke  of  one  lie — your  masterpiece.  We  must 
hear  about  that.5' 

"Yes — spin  the  yarn,  pal,"  requested  Mr.  Max. 

"Well,"  said  the  hermit  reluctantly,  "if  you're 
quite  comfortable — it  ain't  very  short." 

"Please,"  beamed  Miss  Norton. 

With  a  sigh  the  Hermit  of  Baldpate  Mountain 
sank  upon  a  most  unsocial  seat  and  drew  his  pur 
ple  splendor  close. 

"It  was  like  this,"  he  began.  "Five  years  ago 
I  worked  for  a  fruit  company,  and  business  sent 
me  sliding  along  the  edges  of  strange  seas  and 
picture-book  lands.  I  met  little  brown  men,  and 
listened  to  the  soft  swish  of  the  banana  growing, 
and  had  an  orchestra  seat  at  a  revolution  or  two. 
Don't  look  for  a  magazine  story  about  over 
thrown  tyrants,  or  anything  like  that.  It's  just 
a  quiet  little  lie  I'm  speaking  of,  told  on  a  quiet 
little  afternoon,  by  the  sands  of  a  sea  as  blue  as 
Baldpate  Inn  must  have  been  this  morning  when 
I  didn't  show  up  with  breakfast. 


2i4  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"Sitting  on  those  yellow  sands  the  afternoon 
I  speak  of,  wearing  carpet  slippers  made  for  me 
by  loving,  so  to  speak,  hands,  I  saw  Alexander 
McMann  come  along.  He  was  tall  and  straight 
and  young  and  free,  and  I  envied  him,  for  even 
in  those  days  my  figure  would  never  have  done 
in  a  clothing  advertisement,  owing  to  the  heri 
tage  of  too  many  table  d'hotes  about  the  middle. 
Well,  McMann  sat  at  my  side,  and  little  by  little, 
with  the  sea  washing  sad-like  near  by,  I  got  from 
him  the  story  of  his  exile,  and  why. 

"I  don't  need  to  tell  you  it  was  woman  had 
sent  him  off  for  the  equator.  This  one's  name 
was  Marie,  I  think,  and  she  worked  at  a  lunch- 
counter  in  Kansas  City.  From  the  young  man's 
bill-of-fare  description  of  her,  I  gathered  that 
she  had  cheeks  like  peaches  and  cream,  but  a  heart 
like  a  lunch-counter  doughnut,  which  is  hard. 

"  'She  cast  you  off?'  I  asked. 

"  'She  threw  me  down,'  said  he. 

"Well,  it  seems  he'd  bought  a  ticket  for  that 
loud-colored  country  where  I  met  him,  and  come 
down  there  to  forget.  'I  could  buy  the  ticket/ 
he  said,  'as  soon  as  I  learned  how  to  pronounce 


UNDER  THE  PALMS 

the  name  of  this  town.  But  I  can't  forget  I've 
tried  It's  hopeless.'  And  he  sat  there  looking 
like  a  man  whose  best  friend  has  died,  owing  him 
money.  I  won't  go  into  his  emotions.  Mr. 
Bland,  up  at  the  inn,  is  suffering  them  at  the 
present  moment,  I'm  told.  They're  unimportant ; 
I'll  hurry  on  to  the  lie.  I  simply  say  he  was  sor 
rowful,  and  it  seemed  to  me  a  crime,  what  with 
the  sun  so  bright,  and  the  sea  so  blue,  and  the 
world  so  full  of  a  number  of  things.  Yes,  it 
certainly  was  a  crime,  and  I  decided  he  had  to 
be  cheered  up  at  any  cost.  How?  I  thought  a 
while,  gazing  up  at  the  sky,  and  then  it  came  to 
me — the  lie — the  great  glorious  lie — and  I  told 
it." 

The  hermit  looked  in  defiance  round  the  listen 
ing  circle. 

"  'You're  chuck  full  of  sorrow  now,'  I  said 
to  McMann,  'but  it  won't  last  long.'  He  shook 
his  head.  *  Nonsense,'  I  told  him.  'Look  at  me. 
^Do  you  see  me  doing  a  heart-bowed-down  act 
under  the  palms?  Do  you  find  anything  but  joy 
in  my  face?'  And  he  couldn't,  the  lie  unfolding 
itself  in  such  splendor  to  me.  'You?'  he  asked. 


216  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

'Me/  I  said.  'Ten  years  ago  I  was  where  yow 
are  to-day.  A  woman  had  spoken  to  me  as  Mabel 
— or  Marie — or  what  was  it? — spoke  to  you/ 

"I  could  see  I  had  the  boy  interested.  I  un 
folded  my  story,  as  it  occurred  to  me  at  the 
moment.  'Yes/  said  I,  'ten  years  ago  I  saw  her 
first.  Dancing  as  a  butterfly  dances  from  flower 
to  flower.  Dancing  on  the  stage — a  fairy  sprite. 
I  loved  her — worshiped  her.  It  could  never  be. 
There  in  the  dark  of  the  wings,  she  told  me  so. 
And  she  shed  a  tear — a  sweet  tear  of  sorrow  at 
parting. 

"  'I  went  to  my  room/  I  told  McMann,  'with 
a  lot  of  time-tables  and  steamship  books.  Bright 
red  books — the  color  came  off  on  my  eager 
hands.  I  picked  out  a  country,  and  sailed  away. 
Like  you,  I  thought  I  could  never  be  happy,  never 
even  smile,  again.  Look  at  me/ 

"He  looked.  I  guess  my  face  radiated  bliss. 
The  idea  was  so  lovely.  He  was  impressed — 1| 
could  see  it.  Tm  supremely  happy/  I  told  him. 
'I  am  my  own  master.  I  wander  where  I  will. 
No  woman  tells  me  my  hour  for  going  out,  or 
my  hour  for  corning  in.  I  wander.  For  com- 


UNDER   THE   PALMS  217 

pany  I  have  her  picture' — as  I  saw  her  last — with 
twinkling  feet  that  never  touched  earth.  As  the 
spirit  moves,  I  go.  You  can  move  the  memory  of 
a  woman  in  a  flash,  my  boy,  but  it  takes  two 
months  to  get  the  real  article  started,  and  then 
like  as  not  she's  forgot  everything  of  importance. 
Ever  thought  of  that?  You  should.  You're 
going  to  be  as  happy  as  I  am.  Study  me.  Re 
flect/  I  waved  my  carpet-slippered  feet  toward 
the  palms.  I  had  certainly  made  an  impression 
on  Alexander  McMann. 

"As  we  walked  back  over  the  sands  and  grass- 
grown  streets  to  the  hotel,  his  heart  got  away 
from  that  cupid's  lunch-counter,  and  he  was  al 
most  cheerful.  I  was  gay  to  the  last,  but  as  I 
parted  from  him  my  own  heart  sank.  I  knew  I 
had  to  go  back  to  her,  and  that  she  would  prob 
ably  give  me  a  scolding  about  the  carpet  slippers. 
I  parted  from  McMann  with  a  last  word  of  cheer. 
Then  I  went  to  the  ship — to  her.  My  wife. 
That  was  the  lie,  you  understand.  She  traveled 
everywhere  with  me.  She  never  trusted  me. 

"We  were  due  to  sail  that  night,  and  I  was 
glad.  For  I  worried  some  over  what  I  had  done.. 


2i8  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

Suppose  my  wife  and  Alexander  McMann  should 
meet.  An  estimable  woman,  but  large,  deter 
mined,  little  suggesting  the  butterfly  of  the  foot 
lights  I  married,  long  before.  We  had  a  bad 
session  over  the  carpet  slippers.  The  boat  was 
ready  to  sail,  when  McMann  came  aboard.  He 
carried  a  bag,  and  his  face  shone. 

"  'She's  sent  for  me/  he  said.  'Marie  wants 
me.  I  got  a  letter  from  my  brother.  I'll  blow 
into  Kansas  like  a  cyclone,  and  claim  her/ 

"I  was  paralyzed.  At  that  minute  a  large  black 
figure  appeared  on  deck.  It  headed  for  me. 
'Jake/  it  says,  'you've  sat  up  long  enough.  Go 
below  now/ 

"McMann's  face  was  terrible.  I  saw  it  was 
all  up.  'I  lied,  McMann/  I  explained.  'The  idea 
just  came  to  me,  it  fascinated  me,  and  I  lied. 
She  did  turn  me  down — there  in  the  wings.  And 
she  shed  that  tear  I  spoke  of,  too.  But,  when 
I  was  looking  over  the  railroad  folders,  she  sent 
for  me.  I  went — on  the  wings  of  love.  It  was 
two  blocks — but  I  went  on  the  wings  of  love. 
We've  been  married  twenty  years.  Foighre  me, 
McMann !' 


UNDER  THE   PALMS  219 

"McMann  turned  around.  He  picked  up  the 
bag.  I  asked  where  he  was  going.  'Ashore/  he 
said,  'to  think.  I  may  go  back  to  Kansas  City — 
I  may.  But  I'll  just  think  a  bit  first.'  And  he 
climbed  into  the  ship's  boat.  I  never  saw  him 
again." 

The  hermit  paused,  and  gazed  dreamily  into 
space. 

"That,"  he  said,  "was  my  one  great  lie,  my 
masterpiece.  A  year  afterward  I  came  up  here 
on  the  mountain  to  be  a  hermit." 

"As  a  result  of  it?"  asked  Miss  Norton. 

"Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Peters,  "I  told  the  story 
to  a  friend.  I  thought  he  was  a  friend — so  he 
was,  but  married.  My  wife  got  to  hear  of  it. 
'So  you  denied  my  existence,'  she  said.  'As  a 
joke,'  I  told  her.  'The  joke's  on  you/  she  says. 
That  was  the  end.  She  went  her  way,  and  I 
went  mine.  I'd  just  unanimously  gone  her  way 
so  long,  I  was  a  little  dazed  at  first  with  my  free 
dom.  After  fighting  for  a  living  alone  for  a 
time,  I  came  up  here.  It's  cheap.  I  get  the 
solitude  I  need  for  my  book.  Not  long  ago  I 
heard  I  could  go  back  to  her  if  I  apologized." 


220  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"Stick  to  your  guns/'  advised  Mr.  Max. 

"I'm  trying  to,"  Mr.  Peters  replied.  "But  it's 
lonesome  here — in  winter.  And  at  Christmas  in 
particular.  This  dressing-gown  was  a  Christmas 
present  from  Ellen.  She  picked  it.  Pretty,  ain't 
it?  You  see  why  I  can't  come  down  and  cook 
for  you.  I  might  get  the  fever  for  society,  and 
shave,  and  go  to  Brooklyn,  where  she's  living 
with  her  sister." 

"But,"  said  Mr.  Magee,  "we're  in  an  awful  fix. 
You've  put  us  there.  Mr.  Peters,  as  a  man  of 
honor,  I  appeal  to  you.  Your  sense  of  fairness 
must  tell  you  my  appeal  is  just.  Risk  it  one  more 
day,  and  I'll  have  a  cook  sent  up  from  the  vil 
lage.  Just  one  day.  There's  no  danger  in  that. 
Surely  you  can  resist  temptation  one  little  day. 
A  man  of  your  character." 

Miss  Norton  rose  and  stood  before  Mr.  Peters. 
She  fixed  him  with  her  eyes — eyes  into  which 
no  man  could  gaze  and  go  his  way  unmoved. 

"Just  one  tiny  day,"  she  pleaded. 

Mr.  Peters  sighed.    He  rose. 

"I'm  a  fool,"  he  said.    "I  can't  help  it.    I'll 


UNDER   THE   PALMS  221 

take  chances  on  another  day.  Though  nobody 
knows  where  it'll  lead." 

"Brooklyn,  maybe/'  whispered  Lou  Max  to 
Magee  in  mock  horror. 

The  hermit  donned  his  coat,  attended  to  a  few 
household  duties,  and  led  the  delegation  outside. 
Dolefully  he  locked  the  door  of  his  shack.  The 
four  started  down  the  mountain. 

"Back  to  Baldpate  with  our  cook,"  said  Mr. 
Magee  into  the  girl's  ear.  "I  know  now  how 
Caesar  felt  when  he  rode  through  Rome  with  his 
ex-foes  festooned  about  his  chariot  wheels." 

Mr.  Max  again  chose  the  rear,  triumphantly 
escorting  Mr.  Peters.  As  Mr.  Magee  and  the 
girl  swung  into  the  lead,  the  former  was  moved 
to  recur  to  the  topic  he  had  handled  so  amateur 
ishly  a  short  time  before. 

"I'll  make  you  believe  in  me  yet,"  he  said. 

She  did  not  turn  her  head. 

"The  moment  we  reach  the  inn,"  he  went  on, 
"I  shall  come  to  you,  with  the  package  of  money 
in  my  hand.  Then  you'll  believe  I  want  to  help 
you — tell  me  you'll  believe  then." 


222  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"Very  likely  I  shall,"  answered  the  girl  with 
out  interest.  "If  you  really  do  intend  to  give 
ne  that  money — no  one  must  know  about  it." 

"No  one  shall  know/'  he  answered,  "but  you 
and  me." 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  Then  shyly  the 
girl  turned  her  head.  Oh,  most  assuredly,  she 
was  desirable.  Clumsy  as  had  been  his  declara 
tion,  Mr.  Magee  resolved  to  stick  to  it  through 
eternity. 

"I'm  sorry  I  spoke  as  I  did,"  she  said.  "Will 
you  forgive  me?" 

"Forgive  you  ?"  he  cried.    "Why,  I  — " 

"And  now,"  she  interrupted,  "let  us  talk  of 
other  things.  Of  ships,  and  shoes,  and  sealing- 
wax — " 

"All  the  topics  in  the  world,"  he  replied,  "can 
lead  to  but  one  with  me — " 

"Ships?"  asked  the  girl. 

"For  honeymoons,"  he  suggested. 

"Shoes?" 

"In  some  circles  of  society,  I  believe  they  are 
flung  at  bridal  parties." 

"And  sealing-wax?" 


UNDER  THE  PALMS  223 

"On  the  license,  isn't  it?"  he  queried. 

"I'll  not  try  you  on  cabbage  and  kings," 
laughed  the  girl.  "Please,  oh,  please,  don't  fail 
me.  You  won't,  will  you?"  Her  face  was  seri 
ous.  "You  see,  it  means  so  very  much  to  me." 

"Fail  you?"  cried  Magee.  "I'd  hardly  do  that 
now.  In  ten  minutes  that  package  will  be  in  your 
hands — along  with  my  fate,  my  lady." 

"I  shall  be  so  relieved."  She  turned  her  face 
away,  there  was  a  faint  flush  in  the  cheek  toward 
Mr.  Magee.  "And — happy,"  she  whispered  un 
der  her  breath. 

They  were  then  at  the  great  front  door  of 
Baldpate  Inn. 


CHAPTER  XII 

WOE  IN  NUMBER  SEVEN 

INSIDE,  before  the  office  fire,  Miss  Thornhili 
read  a  magazine  in  the  indolent  fashion  so 
much  affected  at  Baldpate  Inn  during  the  heated 
term;  while  the  mayor  of  Reuton  chatted  amia 
bly  with  the  ponderously  coy  Mrs.  Norton.  Into 
this  circle  burst  the  envoys  to  the  hermitage, 
flushed,  energetic,  snowflaked. 

"Hail  to  the  chef  who  in  triumph  advances !" 
cried  Mr.  Magee. 

He  pointed  to  the  door,  through  which  Mr. 
Max  was  leading  the  captured  Mr.  Peters. 

"You  got  him,  didyu?"  rasped  Mrs.  Norton. 

"Without  the  use  of  anesthetics,"  answered 
Magee.  "Everybody  ready  for  one  of  Mr.  Pe 
ters'  inimitable  lunches  ?" 

"Put  me  down  at  the  head  of  the  list/'  con 
tributed  the  mayor. 

224 


WOE   IN   NUMBER   SEVEN       225 

Myra  Thornhill  laid  down  her  magazine,  and 
fixed  her  great  black  eyes  upon  the  radiant  girl 
in  corduroy. 

"And  was  the  walk  in  the  morning  air,"  she 
asked,  "all  you  expected?" 

"All,  and  much  more/'  laughed  Miss  Norton,1 
mischievously  regarding  the  man  who  had  bab 
bled  to  her  of  love  on  the  mountain.  "By  the 
way,  enjoy  Mr.  Peters  while  you  can.  He's  back 
for  just  one  day." 

"Eat,  drink,  and  be  merry,  for  to-morrow  the 
cook  leaves,  as  the  fellow  says,"  supplemented 
Mr.  Max,  removing  his  overcoat 

"How  about  a  quick  lunch,  Peters?"  inquired 
Magee. 

"Out  of  what,  I'd  like  to  know,"  put  in  Mrs. 
Norton.  "Not  a  thing  in  the  house  to  eat.  Just 
like  a  man." 

"You  didn't  look  in  the  right  place,  ma'am," 
replied  Mr.  Peters  with  relish.  "I  got  supplies 
for  a  couple  of  days  in  the  kitchen." 

"Well,  what's  the  sense  in  hiding  'em?"  the 
large  lady  inquired. 

"It  ain't  hiding — it's  system,"  explained  Mr. 


226     SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

Peters.  "Something  women  don't  understand." 
He  came  close  to  Mr.  Magee,  and  whispered  low : 
"You  didn't  warn  me  there  was  another  of  'em." 

"The  last,  on  my  word  of  honor,"  Magee  told 
him. 

"The-last,"  sneered  Mr.  Peters.  "There  isn't 
any  last  up  here."  And  with  a  sidelong  glance  at 
the  new  Eve  in  his  mountain  Eden,  he  turned 
away  to  the  kitchen. 

"Now,"  whispered  Magee  to  Miss  Norton,  "I'll 
get  you  that  package.  I'll  prove  that  it  was  for 
you  I  fought  and  bled  the  mayor  of  Reuton. 
Watch  for  our  chance — when  I  see  you  again 
111  have  it  in  my  pocket." 

"You  mustn't  fail  me,"  she  replied.  "It  means 
so  much." 

Mr.  Magee  started  for  the  stairs.  Between 
him  and  them  loomed  suddenly  the  great  bulk  of 
Mr.  Cargan.  His  hard  menacing  eyes  looked 
full  into  Magee's. 

}     "I  want  to  speak  to  you,  young  fellow,"  he  re 
marked. 

"I'm  flattered,"  said  Magee,  "that  you  find  my 


WOE   IN    NUMBER   SEVEN       227 

company  so  enchanting.  In  ten  minutes  I'll  be 
ready  for  another  interview." 

"You're  ready  now,"  answered  the  mayor, 
"even  if  you  don't  know  it."  His  tone  was  that 
of  one  correcting  a  child.  He  took  Mr.  Magee's 
arm  in  a  grip  which  recalled  to  that  gentleman  a 
fact  the  muckraking  stories  always  dwelt  on — 
how  this  Cargan  had,  in  the  old  days,  "put  away 
his  man"  in  many  shady  corners  of  a  great  city. 

"Come  over  here,"  said  Cargan.  He  led  the 
way  to  a  window.  .Over  his  shoulder  Magee 
neted  the  troubled  eyes  of  Miss  Norton  follow 
ing.  "Sit  down.  I've  been  trying  to  dope  you 
out,  and  I  think  I've  got  you.  I've  seen  your 
kind  before.  Every  few  months  one  of  'em 
breezes  into  Reuton,  spends  a  whole  day  talking 
to  a  few  rats  I've  had  to  exterminate  from  poli 
tics,  and  then  flies  back  to  New  York  >vith  a  ten- 
page  story  of  my  vicious  career  all  ready  for  the 
Jinotypers.  Yes,  sir — I  got  you.  You  write  sweet 
things  for  the  magazines." 

"Think  so?"  inquired  Magee. 

"Know  it,"  returned  the  mayor  heartily.    "So 


228  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

you're  out  after  old  Jim  Cargan's  scalp  again, 
are  you?  I  thought  that  now,  seeing  stories  on 
the  corruption  of  the  courts  is  so  plentiful,  you'd 
3et  the  shame  of  the  city  halls  alone  for  a  while. 
But — well,  I  guess  I'm  what  you  guys  call  good 
copy.  Big,  brutal,  uneducated,  picturesque — you 
see  I  read  them  stories  myself.  How  long  will 
the  American  public  stand  being  ruled  by  a  man 
like  this,  when  it  might  be  authorizing  pretty  boys, 
with  kid  gloves  to  get  next  to  the  good  things? 
That's  the  dope,  ain't  it — the  old  dope  of  the  re 
form  gang — the  ballyhoo  of  the  bunch  that  can't 
let  the  existing  order  stand?  Don't  worry,  I 
ain't  going  to  get  started  on  that  again.  But  I 
want  to  talk  to  you  serious — like  a  father.  There 
was  a  young  fellow  like  you  once — " 

"Like  me?" 

"Exactly.  He  was  out  working  on  long  hours 
and  short  pay  for  the  reform  gang,  and  he  hap 
pened  to  get  hold  of  something  that  a  man  I 
'knew — a  man  high  up  in  public  office — wanted, 
and  wanted  bad.  The  young  fellow  was  going  to 
get  two  hundred  dollars  for  the  article  he  was 
writing.  My  friend  offered  him  twenty  thou- 


WOE  IN   NUMBER   SEVEN       229 

sand  to  call  it  off.    What'd  the  young  fellow  do  ?" 

"Wrote  the  article,  of  course,"  said  Magee. 

"Now — now,"  reproved  Cargan.  "That  re 
mark  don't  fit  in  with  the  estimate  I've  made  of 
you.  I  think  you're  a  smart  boy.  Don't  disap 
point  me.  This  young  fellow  I  speak  of — he 
was  smart,  all  right.  He  thought  the  matter 
over.  He  knew  the  reform  bunch,  through  and 
through.  All  glory  and  no  pay,  serving  them. 
He  knew  how  they  chased  bubbles,  and  made  a 
lot  of  noise,  and  never  got  anywhere  in  the  end. 
He  thought  it  over,  Magee,  the  same  as  you're 
going  to  do.  'You're  on,'  says  this  lad,  and  added 
five  figures  to  his  roll  as  easy  as  we'd  add  a  nickel. 
He  had  brains,  that  guy." 

"And  no  conscience,"  commented  Magee. 

"Conscience,"  said  Mr.  Cargan,  "ain't  worth 
much  except  as  an  excuse  for  a  man  that  hasn't 
made  good  to  give  his  wife.  How  much  did  you 
say  you  was  going  to  get  for  this  article  ?" 

Mr.  Magee  looked  him  coolly  in  the  eye. 

"If  it's  ever  written,"  he  said,  "it  will  be  a  two- 
hundred-thousand-dollar  story." 

'There  ain't  anything  like  that  in  it  for  you," 


230  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

replied  the  mayor.  "Think  over  what  I've  told 
you." 

"I'm  afraid,"  smiled  Magee,  "I'm  too  busy  to 
think." 

He  again  crossed  the  office  floor  to  the  stair 
way.  Before  the  fire  sat  the  girl  of  the  station, 
her  big  eyes  upon  him,  pleadingly.  With  a  re 
assuring  smile  in  her  direction,  he  darted  up  the 
stairs. 

"And  now,"  he  thought,  as  he  closed  and 
locked  the  door  of  number  seven  behind  him,  "for 
the  swag.  So  Cargan  would  give  twenty  thou 
sand  for  that  little  package.  I  don't  blame  him." 

He  opened  a  window  and  glanced  out  along 
the  balcony.  It  was  deserted  in  either  direction; 
its  snowy  floor  was  innocent  of  footprints.  Re- 
entering  number  seven,  he  knelt  by  the  fireplace 
and  dug  up  the  brick  under  which  lay  the  pack 
age  so  dear  to  many  hearts  on  Baldpate  Moun 
tain. 

"I  might  have  known,"  he  muttered. 

For  the  money  was  gone.  He  dug  up  several 
of  the  bricks,  and  rummaged  about  beneath  them. 


.WOE   IN   NUMBER   SEVEN       231 

No  use.  The  fat  little  bundle  of  bills  had  flown. 
Only  an  ugly  hole  gaped  up  at  him. 

He  sat  down.  Of  course!  What  a  fool  he 
had  been  to  suppose  that  such  treasure  as  this 
would  stay  long  in  a  hiding-place  so  obvious. 
He  who  had  made  a  luxurious  living  writing 
tales  of  the  chase  of  gems  and  plate  and  gold 
had  bungled  the  thing  from  the  first.  He  could 
hammer  out  on  a  typewriter  wild  plots  and  coun 
ter-plots — with  a  boarding-school  girl's  cupid 
busy  all  over  the  place.  But  he  could  not  live 
them. 

A  boarding-school  cupid!  Good  lord!  He 
remembered  the  eyes  of  the  girl  in  blue  corduroy 
as  they  had  met  his  when  he  turned  to  the  stairs. 
What  would  she  say  now  ?  On  this  he  had  gaily 
staked  her  faith  in  him.  This  was  to  be  the  test 
of  his  sincerity,  the  proof  of  his  devotion.  And 
now  he  must  go  to  her,  looking  like  a  fool  once 
more — go  to  her  and  confess  that  again  he  had 
failed  her. 

His  rage  blazed  forth.  So  they  had  "got  to 
him",  after  all.  Who?  He  thought  of  the 


232  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

smooth  crafty  mountain  of  a  man  who  had  de 
tained  him  a  moment  ago.  Who  but  Cargan  and 
Max,  of  course?  They  had  found  his  childish 
hiding-place,  and  the  money  had  come  home  to 
their  eager  hands.  No  doubt  they  were  laughing 
slyly  at  him  now. 

Well,  he  would  show  them  yet.  He  got  up 
and  walked  the  floor.  Once  he  had  held  them 
up  in  the  snow  and  spoiled  their  little  game — he 
would  do  it  again.  How?  When?  He  did  not 
know.  His  soul  cried  for  action  of  some  sort, 
but  he  was  up  against  a  blind  alley,  and  he 
knew  it. 

He  unlocked  the  door  of  number  seven.  To 
go  down-stairs,  to  meet  the  sweet  eagerness  of 
the  girl  who  depended  on  him,  to  confess  him 
self  tricked — it  took  all  the  courage  he  had.  Why 
had  it  all  happened,  anyhow?  Confound  it, 
hadn't  he  come  up  here  to  be  alone  with  his 
thoughts?  But,  brighter  side,  it  had  given  him 
her — or  it  would  give  him  her  before  the  last 
card  was  played.  He  shut  his  teeth  tightly,  and 
went  down  the  stairs. 

Mr.   Bland  had  added  himself  to  the  group 


WOE   IN   NUMBER   SEVEN       233 

about  the  fire.  Quickly  the  eyes  of  Miss  Norton 
met  Magee's.  She  was  trembling  with  excite 
ment.  Cargan,  huge,  red,  cheery,  got  in  Magee's 
path  once  more. 

"I'll  annihilate  this  man,"  thought  Magee. 

"I've  been  figuring,"  said  the  mayor,  "that  was 
one  thing  he  didn't  have  to  contend  with.  No, 
sir,  there  wasn't  any  bright  young  men  hunting 
up  old  Napoleon  and  knocking  him  in  the 
monthly  magazines.  They  didn't  go  down  to 
Sardinia  and  pump  it  out  of  the  neighbors  that 
he  started  business  on  borrowed  money,  and  that 
his  father  drank  more  than  was  good  for  him. 
They  didn't  run  illustrated  articles  about  the  dia 
monds  he  wore,  and  moving  pictures  of  him  eat 
ing  soup." 

"No,  I  guess  not,"  replied  Magee  abstractedly. 

"I  reckon  there  was  a  lot  in  his  record  wasn't 
meant  for  the  newspapers,"  continued  Cargan  re 
flectively.  "And  it  didn't  get  there.  Nap  was 
lucky.  He  had  it  on  the  reformers  there.  They 
couldn't  squash  him  with  the  power  of  the  press." 

Mr.  Magee  broke  away  from  the  mayor's  re 
hashed  history,  and  hurried  to  Miss  Norton. 


234  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"You  promised  yesterday,"  he  reminded  her, 
"to  show  me  the  pictures  of  the  admiral." 

"So  I  did/'  she  replied,  rising  quickly.  "To 
think  you  have  spent  all  this  time  in  Baldpate 
Inn  and  not  paid  homage  to  its  own  particular 
cock  of  the  walk." 

She  led  him  to  a  portrait  hanging  beside  the 
desk. 

"Behold,"  she  said,  '*the  admiral  on  a  sunny 
day  in  July.  Note  the  starchy  grandeur  of  him, 
even  with  the  thermometer  up  in  the  clouds. 
That's  one  of  the  things  the  rocking-chair  fleet 
adores  in  him.  Can  you  imagine  the  flurry  at 
the  approach  of  all  that  superiority?  Theodore 
Roosevelt,  William  Faversham,  and  Richard 
Harding  Davis  all  arriving  together  couldn't 
overshadow  the  admiral  for  a  minute." 

Mr.  Magee  gazed  at  the  picture  of  a  pompous 
little  man,  whose  fierce  mustache  seemed  anxious 
to  make  up  for  the  lack  of  hair  on  his  head. 

"A  bald  hero  at  a  summer  resort,"  he  com 
mented,  "it  seems  incredible." 

"Oh,  they  think  he  lost  his  hair  fighting  for 
the  flag,"  she  laughed.  "It's  winter,  and  snow- 


WOE   IN  NUMBER   SEVEN       235 

ing,  or  I  shouldn't  dare  ttse-majeste.  And — over 
here — is  the  admiral  on  the  veranda,  playing  it's 
a  quarter  deck.  And  here  the  great  portrait — 
Andrew  Rutter  with  a  profaning  arm  over  the 
admiral's  shoulder.  The  old  ladies  make  their 
complaints  to  Mr.  Rutter  in  softer  tones  after 
seeing  that  picture." 

"And  this?"  asked  Magee,  moving  farther 
from  the  group  by  the  fire. 

"A  precious  one — I  wonder  they  leave  it  here 
in  winter.  This  is  the  admiral  as  a  young  man — 
clipped  from  a  magazine  article.  Even  without 
the  mustache,  you  see,  he  had  a  certain  martial 
bearing." 

"And  now  he's  the  ruler  of  the  queen's  navee," 
smiled  Magee.  He  looked  about.  "Is  it  possible 
to  see  the  room  where  the  admiral  plays  his  fa 
mous  game?" 

"Step  softly,"  she  answered.  "In  here.  There 
stands  the  very  table." 

They  went  into  the  small  card-room  at  the  right 
of  the  entrance  to  the  office,  and  Mr.  Magee 
quietly  closed  the  door  behind  them.  The  time 
had  come.  He  felt  his  heart  sink. 


236  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"Well?"  said  the  girl,  with  an  eagerness  she 
could  not  conceal. 

Mr.  Magee  groped  for  words.  And  found— 
his  old  friends  of  the  mountain. 

"I  love  you,"  he  cried  desperately.  "You  must 
believe  I  want  to  help  you.  It  looks  rather  the 
other  way  now,  I'll  admit.  I  want  you  to  have 
that  money.  I  don't  know  who  you  are,  nor  what 
this  all  means,  but  I  want  you  to  have  it.  I  went 
up-stairs  determined  to  give  it  to  you — " 

"Really."  The  word  was  at  least  fifty  degrees 
below  the  temperature  of  the  card-room. 

"Yes,  really.  I  won't  ask  you  to  believe — but 
I'm  telling  the  truth.  I  went  to  the  place  where 
I  had  fatuously  hid  the  money — under  a  brick  of 
my  fireplace.  It  was  gone." 

"How  terribly  unfortunate." 

"Yes,  isn't  it?"  Mr.  Magee  rejoiced  that  she 
took  so  calm  a  view  of  it.  "They  searched  the 
room,  of  course.  And  they  found  the  money. 
They're  on  top  now.  But  I'm  going — " 

He  stopped.  For  he  had  seen  her  face.  She 
— taking  a  calm  view  of  it  ?  No,  indeed.  Billy 
Magee  saw  that  she  was  furiously,  wildly  angry. 


WOE   IN   NUMBER   SEVEN       237 

He  remembered  always  having  written  it  down 
that  beautiful  women  were  even  more  beautiful 
in  anger.  How,  he  wondered,  had  he  fallen  into 
that  error? 

"Please  do  not  bore  me,"  she  said  through  her 
teeth,  "with  any  further  recital  of  what  you  'are 
going'  to  do.  You  seem  to  have  a  fatal  facility 
in  that  line.  Your  record  of  accomplishment  is 
pathetically  weak.  And — oh,  what  a  fool  I've 
been!  I  believed.  Even  after  last  night,  I  be 
lieved." 

No,  she  was  not  going  to  cry.  Hers  was  no 
mood  for  tears.  What  said  the  librettist? 
"There  is  beauty  in  the  roaring  of  the  gale,  and 
the  tiger  when  a-lashing  of  his  tail."  Such  was 
the  beauty  of  a  woman  in  anger.  And  nothing 
to  get  enthusiastic  about,  thought  Mr.  Magee. 

"I  know,"  he  said  helplessly,  "you're  terribly 
disappointed.  And  I  don't  blame  you.  But  you 
will  find  out  that  you've  done  me  an  injustice. 
I'm  going — " 

"One  thing,"  said  she,  smiling  a  smile  that 
could  have  cut  glass,  "you  are  going  to  do.  I 
know  that  you  won't  fail  this  time,  because 


238  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

shall  personally  see  you  through  with  it.  You're 
going  to  stop  making  a  fool  of  me." 

"Tell  me,"  pleaded  Billy  Magee.  "Tell  me 
who  you  are — what  this  is  all  about.  Can't  you 
see  I'm  working  in  the  dark  ?  You  must — " 

She  threw  open  the  card-room  door. 

"An  English  officer,"  she  remarked  loudly, 
stepping  out  into  the  other  room,  "taught  the  ad 
miral  the  game.  At  least,  so  he  said.  It  added 
so  much  romance  to  it  in  the  eyes  of  the  rocking- 
chair  fleet.  Can't  you  see — India — the  hot  sun 
— the  Kipling  local  color— a  silent,  tanned,  hand 
some  man  eternally  playing  solitaire  on  the  porch 
of  the  barracks  ?  Has  the  barracks  a  porch  ?" 

Roused,  humiliated,  baffled,  Mr.  Magee  felt  his 
cheeks  burn. 

"We  shall  see  what  we  shall  see,"  he  muttered. 

"Why  coin  the  inevitable  into  a  bromide,"  she 
asked. 

Mr.  Magee  joined  the  group  by  the  fire.  Never 
before  in  his  life  had  he  been  so  determined  on 
anything  as  he  was  now  that  the  package  of 
money  should  return  to  his  keeping.  But  how? 


WOE   IN   NUMBER   SEVEN       239 

How  trace  through  this  maze  of  humans  the 
present  holder  of  that  precious  bundle  of  collat 
eral  ?  He  looked  at  Mr.  Max,  sneering  his  lemon- 
colored  sneer  at  the  mayor's  side;  at  the  mayor 
himself,  nonchalant  as  the  admiral  being  photo 
graphed  ;  at  Bland,  author  of  the  Arabella  fiction, 
sprawling  at  ease  before  the  fire;  at  the  tawdry 
Mrs.  Norton,  and  at  Myra  Thornhill,  who  had 
by  her  pleading  the  night  before  made  him  ridicu 
lous.  Who  of  these  had  the  money  now?  Who 
but  Cargan  and  Max,  their  faces  serene,  their 
eyes  eagerly  on  the  preparations  for  lunch,  their 
plans  for  leaving  Baldpate  Inn  no  doubt  already 
made? 

And  then  Mr.  Magee  saw  coming  down  the 
stairs  another  figure — one  he  had  forgot — Pro 
fessor  Thaddeus  Bolton,  he  of  the  mysterious 
dialogue  by  the  annex  door.  On  the  professor's 
forehead  was  a  surprising  red  scratch,  and  his 
eyes,  no  longer  hidden  by  the  double  convex 
lenses,  stood  revealed  a  washed-out  gray  in  the 
light  of  noon. 

"A  most  unfortunate  accident/'  explained  the 


240  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

old  man.  "Most  distressing.  I  have  broken  my; 
glasses.  I  am  almost  blind  without  them." 

"How'd  it  happen,  Doc?"  asked  Mr.  Cargan 
easily. 

"I  came  into  unexpected  juxtaposition  with  an 
open  door,"  returned  Professor  Bolton.  "Stupid 
of  me,  but  I'm  always  doing  it.  Really,  the  agil 
ity  displayed  by  doors  in  getting  in  my  path  is 
surprising." 

"You  and  Mr.  Max  can  sympathize  with  each 
other,"  said  Magee,  "I  thought  for  a  moment 
your  injuries  might  have  been  received  in  the 


same  cause." 


"Don't  worry,  Doc,"  Mr.  Bland  soothed  him, 
"we'll  all  keep  a  weather  eye  out  for  reporters 
that  want  to  connect  you  up  with  the  peroxide 
blondes." 

The  professor  turned  his  ineffectual  gaze  on 
the  haberdasher,  and  there  was  a  startlingly  ironic 
smile  on  his  face. 

"I  know,  Mr.  Bland,"  he  said,  "that  my  safety 
is  your  dearest  wish." 

The  Hermit  of  Baldpate  announced  that  lunch 


WOE   IN   NUMBER   SEVEN       241 

was  ready,  and  with  the  others  Mr.  Magee  took 
his  place  at  the  table.  Food  for  thought  was  also 
his.  The  spectacles  of  Professor  Thaddeus  Bolton 
were  broken.  Somewhere  in  the  scheme  of  things 
those  smashed  lenses  must  fit.  But  where? 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  EXQUISITE  MR.  HAYDEN 

IT  was  past  three  o'clock.  The  early  twilight 
crept  up  the  mountain,  and  the  shadows  be 
gan  to  lengthen  in  the  great  bare  office  of  Bald- 
pate  Inn.  In  the  red  flicker  of  firelight  Mr.  Ma- 
gee  sat  and  pondered ;  the  interval  since  luncheon 
had  passed  lazily;  he  was  no  nearer  to  guessing 
which  of  Baldpate  Inn's  winter  guests  hugged 
close  the  precious  package.  Exasperated,  angry, 
he  waited  for  he  knew  not  what,  restless  all  the 
while  to  act,  but  having  not  the  glimmer  of  an 
inspiration  as  to  what  his  course  ought  to  be. 

He  heard  the  rustle  of  skirts  on  the  stair  land 
ing,  and  looked  up.  Down  the  broad  stairway, 
so  well  designed  to  serve  as  a  show-window  fof 
the  sartorial  triumphs  of  Baldpate's  gay  summer 
people,  came  the  tall  handsome  girl  who  had  the 
night  before  set  all  his  plans  awry.  In  the  swift- 
242 


THE   EXQUISITE  MR.   HAYDEN     245 

moving  atmosphere  of  the  inn  she  had  hitherto 
been  to  Mr.  Magee  but  a  puppet  of  the  shadows, 
a  figure  more  fictitious  than  real.  Now  for  the 
first  time  he  looked  upon  her  as  a  flesh-and-blood 
girl,  noted  the  red  in  her  olive  cheeks,  the  fire  in 
her  dark  eyes,  and  realized  that  her  interest  in 
that  package  of  money  might  be  something  more 
than  another  queer  quirk  in  the  tangle  of  events. 

She  smiled  a  friendly  smile  at  Magee,  and  took 
the  chair  he  offered.  One  small  slipper  beat  a 
discreet  tattoo  on  the  polished  floor  of  Baldpate's 
office.  Again  she  suggested  to  Billy  Magee  a 
house  of  wealth  and  warmth  and  luxury,  a  house 
where  Arnold  Bennett  and  the  post-impression 
ists  are  often  discussed,  a  house  the  head  of  which 
becomes  purple  and  apoplectic  at  the  mention  of 
Colonel  Roosevelt's  name. 

"Last  night,  Mr.  Magee/'  she  said,  "I  told  you 
frankly  why  I  had  come  to  Baldpate  Inn.  You 
were  good  enough  to  say  that  you  would  help 
me  if  you  could.  The  time  has  come  when  you 
can,  I  think." 

"Yes?"  answered  Magee.  His  heart  sank. 
What  now? 


SEVEN  KEYS  TO   BALDPATE 

"I  must  confess  that  I  spied  this  morning,** 
she  went  on.  "It  was  rude  of  me,  perhaps.  But 
I  think  almost  anything  is  excusable  under  the 
circumstances,  don't  you?  I  witnessed  a  scene 
in  the  hall  above — Mr.  Magee,  I  know  who  has 
1  the  two  hundred  thousand  dollars !" 

"You  know?"  cried  Magee.  His  heart  gave  a 
great  bound.  At  last!  And  then — he  stopped. 
"I'm  afraid  I  must  ask  you  not  to  tell  me,"  he 
added  sadly. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  in  wonder.  She  was  of 
a  type  common  in  Magee's  world — delicate, 
,  finely- reared,  sensitive.  True,  in  her  pride  and 
haughtiness  she  suggested  the  snow-capped 
heights  of  the  eternal  hills.  But  at  sight  of  those 
feminine  heights  Billy  Magee  had  always  been 
one  to  seize  his  alpenstock  in  a  more  determined 
grip,  and  climb.  Witness  his  attentions  to  the 
supurb  Helen  Faulkner.  He  had  a  moment  of 
faltering.  Here  was  a  girl  who  at  least  did  not 
doubt  him,  who  ascribed  to  him  the  virtues  of  a 
gentleman,  who  was  glad  to  trust  in  him.  Should 
he  transfer  his  allegiance?  No,  he  could  hardly 
do  that  now. 


THE   EXQUISITE  MR.   HAYDEN     245 

"You  ask  me  not  to  tell  you/'  repeated  the  girl 
slowly. 

"That  demands  an  explanation,"  replied  Billy 
Magee.  "I  want  you  to  understand — to  be  cer 
tain  that  I  would  delight  to  help  you  if  I  could. 
But  the  fact  is  that  before  you  came  I  gave  my 
word  to  secure  the  package  you  speak  of  for — 
another  woman.  I  can  not  break  my  promise  to 
her." 

"I  see,"  she  answered.    Her  tone  was  cool. 

"I'm  very  sorry,"  Magee  went  on.  "But  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  seem  to  be  of  very  little  service 
to  any  one.  Just  now  I  would  give  a  great  deal 
to  have  the  information  you  were  about  to  give 
me.  But  since  I  could  not  use  it  helping  you, 
you  will  readily  see  that  I  must  not  listen.  I'm 
sorry." 

"I'm  sorry,  too,"  replied  the  girl.  "Thank 
you  very  much — for  telling  me.  Now  I  must — 
go  forward — alone."  She  smiled  unhappily. 

"I'm  afraid  you  must,"  answered  Billy  Magee. 

On  the  stairs  appeared  the  slim  figure  of  the 
other  girl.  Her  great  eyes  were  wistful,  her  face 
was  pale.  She  came  toward  them  through  the 


246  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

red  firelight.  Mr.  Magee  saw  wha4  a  fool  he 
had  been  to  waver  in  his  allegiance  even  for  a 
moment.  For  he  loved  her,  wanted  her,  surely. 
The  snow-capped  heights  are  inspiring,  but  far 
more  companionable  is  the  brcok  that  sparkles 
in  the  valley. 

"It's  rather  dull,  isn't  it?"  asked  Miss  Norton 
of  the  Thornhill  girl.  By  the  side  of  the  taller 
woman  she  seemed  slight,  almost  childish.  "Have 
you  seen  the  pictures  of  the  admiral,  Miss  Thorn- 
hill?  Looking  at  them  is  our  one  diversion." 

"I  do  not  care  to  see  them,  thank  you,"  Myra 
Thornhill  replied,  moving  toward  the  stairs.  "He 
is  a  very  dear  friend  of  my  father."  She  passed 
up  and  out  of  sight. 

Miss  Norton  turned  away  from  the  fire,  and 
Mr.  Magee  rose  hastily  to  follow.  He  stood 
close  behind  her,  gazing  down  at  her  golden  hair 
shimmering  in  the  dark. 

"I've  just  been  thinking,"  he  said  lightly,  "what! 
an  absolutely  ridiculous  figure  I  must  be  in  your' 
eyes,  buzzing  round  and  round  like  a  bee  in  a  bot 
tle,  and  getting  nowhere  at  all.     Listen — no  one 
has  left  the  inn.     While  they  stay,  there's  hope. 


THE   EXQUISITE   MR.    HAYDEN     247 

Am  I  not  to  have  one  more  chance — a  chance  to 
prove  to  you  how  much  I  care  ?" 

She  turned,  and  even  in  the  dusk  he  saw  that 
her  eyes  were  wet. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  I  don't  know/'  she  whis 
pered.  "I'm  not  angry  any  more.  I'm  just — at 
sea.  I  don't  know  what  to  think — what  to  do. 
Why  try  any  longer?  I  think  111  go  away — and 
give  up." 

"You  mustn't  do  that,"  urged  Magee.  They 
came  back  into  the  firelight.  "Miss  Thornhill  has 
just  informed  me  that  she  knows  who  has  the 
package !" 

"Indeed,"  said  the  girl  calmly,  but  her  face  had 
flushed. 

"I  didn't  let  her  tell  me,  of  course." 

"Why  not?"  Oh,  how  maddening  women 
:ould  be ! 

"Why  not?"  Magee's  tone  was  hurt.  "Be 
cause  I  couldn't  use  her  information  in  getting 
the  money  for  you." 

"You  are  still  'going  to'  get  the  money  for 
me?" 

Maddening,  certainly,  as  a  rough-edged  collar. 


248  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"Of — "  Magee  began,  but  caught  himself.  No, 
he  would  prate  no  more  of  'going  to'.  "I'll  not 
ask  you  to  believe  it,"  he  said,  "until  I  bring  it 
to  you  and  place  it  in  your  hand." 

She  turned  her  face  slowly  to  his  and  lifted  her 
blue  eyes. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said.    "I  wonder." 

The  firelight  fell  on  her  lips,  her  hair,  her 
eyes,  and  Mr.  Magee  knew  that  his  selfish  bach 
elorhood  was  at  an  end.  Hitherto,  marriage  had 
been  to  him  the  picture  drawn  by  the  pathetic 
exiled  master.  "There  are  no  more  pleasant  by 
paths  down  which  you  may  wander,  but  the  road 
lies  long  and  straight  and  dusty  to  the  grave." 
What  if  it  were  so?  With  the  hand  of  a  girl  like 
this  in  his,  what  if  the  pleasant  by-paths  of  his 
solitude  did  bear  hereafter  the  "No  Thorough 
fare"  sign?  Long  the  road  might  be,  and  he 
would  rejoice  in  its  length ;  dusty  perhaps,  but  her 
smile  through  the  dust  would  make  it  all  worth 
while.  He  stooped  to  her. 

"Give  me,  please,"  he  said,  "the  benefit  of  the 
doubt."  It  was  a  poor  speech  compared  to  what 
was  in  his  heart,  but  Billy  Magee  was  rapidly 


THE   EXQUISITE   MR.    HAYDEN     249 

learning  that  most  of  the  pretty  speeches  went 
with  puppets  who  could  not  feel. 

Bland  and  Max  came  in  from  a  brisk  walk  on 
the  veranda.  The  mayor  of  Reuton,  who  had 
been  dozing  near  the  desk,  stirred. 

"Great  air  up  here,"  remarked  Mr.  Max,  rub 
bing  his  hands  before  the  fire.  "Ought  to  be 
pumped  down  into  the  region  of  the  white  lights. 
It  sure  would  stir  things  up." 

"It  would  put  out  the  lights  at  ten  p.  M./' 
answered  Mr.  Magee,  "and  inculcate  other 
wholesome  habits  of  living  disastrous  to  the  res 
taurant  impresarios." 

Miss  Norton  rose  and  ascended  the  stairs.  Still 
the  protesting  Magee  was  at  her  heels.  At  the 
head  of  the  stair  she  turned. 

"You  shall  have  your  final  chance,"  she  said. 
"The  mayor,  Max  and  Bland  are  alone  in  the 
office.  I  don't  approve  of  eavesdropping  at  Bald- 
pate  in  the  summer — it  has  spoiled  a  lot  of  per 
fectly  adorable  engagements.  But  in  winter  it's 
different.  Whether  you  really  want  to  help  me 
or  not  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  but  if  you  do,  the 
conversation  below  now  might  prove  of  interest." 


250  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"I'm  sure  it  would,"  Magee  replied. 

"Well,  I  have  a  scheme.  Listen.  Baldpate 
Inn  is  located  in  a  temperance  county.  That 
doesn't  mean  that  people  don't  drink  here — it 
simple  means  that  there's  a  lot  of  mystery  and  ro 
mance  connected  with  the  drinking.  Sometimes 
those  who  follow  the  god  of  chance  in  the  card- 
room  late  at  night  grow  thirsty.  Now  it  hap 
pens  that  there  is  a  trap-door  in  the  floor  of 
the  card-room,  up  which  drinks  are  frequently 
passed  from  the  cellar.  Isn't  that  exciting?  A 
hotel  clerk  who  became  human  once  in  my  pres 
ence  told  me  all  about  it.  If  you  went  into  the 
cellar  and  hunted  about,  you  might  find  that  door 
and  climb  up  into  the  card-room." 

"A  bully  idea,"  agreed  Mr.  Magee.  "I'll  hurry 
down  there  this  minute.  I'm  more  grateful  than 
you  can  guess  for  this  chance.  And  this  time — 
but  you'll  see." 

He  found  the  back  stairs,  and  descended.  In 
the  kitchen  the  hermit  got  in  his  path. 

"Mr.  Magee,"  he  pleaded,  "I  consider  that,  in 
a  way,  I  work  for  you  here.  I've  got  something 
important  to  tell  you.  Just  a  minute — " 


THE   EXQUISITE   MR.   HAYDEN     251 

"Sorry,"  answered  Magee,  "but  I  can't  possi 
bly  stop  now.  In  an  hour  I'll  talk  to  you.  Show 
me  the  cellar  door,  and  don't  mention  where  I've 
gone,  there's  a  good  fellow." 

Mr.  Peters  protested  that  his  need  of  talk  was 
urgent,  but  to  no  avail.  Magee  hurried  to  the  cel 
lar,  and  with  the  aid  of  a  box  of  matches  found  a 
ladder  leading  to  a  door  cut  in  the  floor  above.  He 
climbed  through  dust  and  cobwebs,  unfastened 
the  catch,  and  pushed  cautiously  upward.  In 
another  minute  he  was  standing  in  the  chill  little 
card-room.  Softly  he  opened  the  card-room  door 
about  half  an  inch,  and  put  his  ear  to  it. 

The  three  men  were  grouped  very  close  at 
hand,  and  he  heard  Mr.  Bland  speaking  in  low 
tones : 

"I'm  talking  to  you  boys  as  a  friend.  The 
show  is  over.  There  ain't  no  use  hanging  round 
for  the  concert — there  won't  be  none.  Go  home 
and  get  some  clean  collars  and  a  square  meal." 

"If  you  think  I'm  going  to  be  shook  off  by  any 
fairy  story  like  that,"  said  the  mayor  of  Reuton, 
"you're  a  child  with  all  a  child's  touching  faith." 


252     SEVEN   KEYS  TO   BALDPATE 

"All  right,"  replied  Mr.  Bland,  "I  thought  I'd 
pass  you  the  tip,  that's  all.  It  ain't  nothing  to 
me  what  you  do.  But  it's  all  over,  and  you've 
lost  out.  I'm  sorry  you  have — but  I  take  Hay- 
den's  orders." 

"Damn  Hayden!"  snarled  the  mayor.  "It  was 
his  idea  to  make  a  three-act  play  out  of  this  thing. 
He's  responsible  for  this  silly  trip  to  Baldpate. 
This  audience  we've  been  acting  for — he  let  us 
in  for  them." 

"I  know,"  said  Bland.  "But  you  can't  deny 
that  Baldpate  Inn  looked  like  the  ideal  spot  at 
first.  Secluded,  off  the  beaten  path,  you  know, 
and  all  that." 

"Yes,"  sneered  the  mayor,  "as  secluded  as  a 
Sunday-school  the  Sunday  before  Christmas." 

"Well,  who  could  have  guessed  it?"  went  on 
Mr.  Bland.  "As  I  say,  I  don't  care  what  you  do. 
I  just  passed  you  the  tip.  I've  got  that  nice  little 
package  of  the  long  green — I've  got  it  where 
you'll  never  find  it  Yes,  sir,  it's  returned  to  the 
loving  hands  of  little  Joe  Bland,  that  brought  it 
here  first.  It  ain't  going  to  roam  no  more.  So 
what's  the  use  of  your  sticking  around  ?" 


THE   EXQUISITE   MR.    HAYDEN      25$ 

"How  did  you  get  hold  of  it?"  inquired  Mr. 
Lou  Max. 

"I  had  my  eye  on  this  little  professor  person/* 
explained  Mr.  Bland.  "This  morning  when 
Magee  went  up  the  mountain  I  trailed  the  high 
brow  to  Magee's  room.  When  I  busted  in,  un 
announced  by  the  butler,  he  was  making  his  get 
away.  I  don't  like  to  talk  about  what  followed. 
He's  an  old  man,  and  I  sure  didn't  mean  to  break 
his  glasses,  nor  scratch  his  dome  of  thought. 
There's  ideas  in  that  dome  go  back  to  the  time  of 
Anthony  J.  Chaucer.  But — he's  always  talking 
about  that  literature  chair  of  his — why  couldn't 
he  stay  at  home  and  sit  in  it  ?  Anyhow,  I  got  the 
bundle  all  right,  all  right.  I  wonder  what  the  lit 
tle  fossil  wants  with  it" 

"The  Doc's  glasses  was  broke,"  said  Max,  evi 
dently  to  the  mayor  of  Reuton. 

"Um-m,"  came  Cargan's  voice.  "Bland,  how 
much  do  you  make  working  for  this  nice  kind 
gentleman,  Mr.  Hayden?" 

"Oh,  about  two  thousand  a  year,  with  pick 
ings,"  replied  Bland. 

"Yes?"  went  on  Mr.   Cargan.     "I  ain't  no 


254  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

Charles  Dana  Gibson  with  words.  My  talk's  a 
little  rough  and  sketchy,  I  guess.  But  here's  the 
outline,  plain  as  I  can  make  it.  Two  thousand  a 
year  from  Hayden.  Twenty  thousand  in  two 
seconds  if  you  hand  that  package  to  me." 

"No,"  objected  Bland.  "I've  been  honest- 
after  a  fashion.  I  can't  quite  stand  for  that.  I'm 
working  for  Hayden." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,"  sneered  Max. 

"Of  course,"  said  the  mayor,  "I  appreciate 
your  scruples,  having  had  a  few  in  my  day  my 
self,  though  you'd  never  think  so  to  read  the  Star. 
But  look  at  it  sensible.  The  money  belongs  to 
me.  If  you  was  to  hand  it  over  you'd  be  just  doing 
plain  justice.  What  right  has  Hayden  on  his 
side?  I  did  what  was  agreed — do  I  get  my  pay? 
No.  Who  are  you  to  defeat  the  ends  of  justice 
this  way?  That's  how  you  ought  to  look  at  it. 
You  give  me  what's  my  due — and  you  put  twenty 
thousand  in  your  pocket  by  an  honest  act.  Hay 
den  comes.  He  asks  for  the  bundle.  You  point 
to  the  dynamited  safe.  You  did  your  best." 

"No,"  said  Bland,  but  his  tone  was  less  firm. 
"I  can't  go  back  on  Hayden.  No — it  wouldn't — " 


THE   EXQUISITE  MR.   HAYDEN      25$ 

"Twenty  thousand,"  repeated  Cargan.  "Ten 
years'  salary  the  way  you're  going  ahead  at  pres 
ent.  A  lot  of  money  for  a  young  man.  If  I  was 
you  I  wouldn't  hesitate  a  minute.  Think. 
What's  Hayden  ever  done  for  you?  He'll 
throw  you  down  some  day,  the  way  he's  thrown) 


me." 


"I — I — don't  know — "  wavered  Bland.  Mr. 
Magee,  in  the  card-room,  knew  that  Hayden's 
emissary  was  tottering  on  the  brink. 

"You  could  set  up  in  business,"  whined  Mr. 
Max.  "Why,  if  I'd  had  that  much  money  at 
your  age,  I'd  be  a  millionaire  to-day." 

"You  get  the  package,"  suggested  the  mayor, 
"take  twenty  thousand  out,  and  slip  the  rest  to 
me.  No  questions  asked.  I  guess  there  ain't  no 
body  mixed  up  in  this  affair  will  go  up  on  the 
housetops  and  shout  about  it  when  we  get  back 
to  Reuton." 

"\yell,—"  began  Bland.  He  was  lost.  Sud 
denly  the  quiet  of  Baldpate  Mountain  was  as 
sailed  by  a  loud  pounding  at  the  inn  door,  and  a 
voice  crying,  "Bland.  Let  me  in." 

"There's  Hayden  now,"  cried  Mr.  Bland. 


256  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"It  ain't  too  late,"  came  the  mayor's  voice, 
"You  can  do  it  yet.  It  ain't  too  late." 

"Do  what  ?"  cried  Bland  in  a  firm  tone.  "You 
jcan't  bribe  me,  Cargan."  He  raised  his  voice. 
"Go  round  to  the  east  door,  Mr.  Hayden."  Then 
he  added,  to  Cargan:  "That's  my  answer.  I'm 
going  to  let  him  in." 

"Let  him  in,"  bellowed  the  mayor.  "Let  the 
hound  in.  I  guess  I've  got  something  to  say  to 
Mr.  Hayden." 

There  came  to  Magee's  ears  the  sound  of  open 
ing  doors,  and  of  returning  footsteps. 

"How  do  you  do,  Cargan,"  said  a  voice  new  to 
Baldpate. 

"Cut  the  society  howdydoes,"  replied  the 
mayor  hotly.  "There's  a  little  score  to  be  settled 
between  me  and  you,  Hayden.  I  ain't  quite  wise 
to  your  orchid-in-the-buttonhole  ways.  I  don't 
quite  follow  them.  I  ain't  been  bred  in  the  club 
you  hang  around — they  blackballed  me  when  I 
;  tried  to  get  in.  You  know  that.  I'm  a  rough 
rude  man.  I  don't  understand  your  system. 
When  I  give  my  word,  I  keep  it.  Has  that  gone 
out  of  style  up  on  the  avenue,  where  you  live?" 


THE   EXQUISITE   MR.   HAYDEN      257 

"There  are  conditions — "  began  Hayden. 

"The  hell  there  are !"  roared  Cargan.  "A  man's 
word's  his  word,  and  he  keeps  it  to  me,  or  I  know 
the  reason  why.  You  can't  come  down  to  the 
City  Hall  with  any  new  deal  like  this.  I  was  to 
have  two  hundred  thousand.  Why  didn't  I  get 
it?" 

"Because,"  replied  Hayden  smoothly,  "the — er 
— little  favor  you  were  to  grant  me  in  return  is  to 
be  made  useless  by  the  courts." 

"Can  I  help  that?"  the  mayor  demanded. 
"Was  there  anything  about  that  in  the  agree 
ment?  I  did  my  work.  I  want  my  pay.  I'll 
have  it,  Mister  Hayden." 

Hayden's  voice  was  cool  and  even  as  he  spoke 
to  Bland. 

"Got  the  money,  Joe?" 

"Yes,"  Bland  answered. 

"Where?" 

"Well— we'd  better  wait,  hadn't  we?"  Eland's 
voice  was  shaky. 

"No.  We'll  take  it  and  get  out,"  answered 
Hayden. 

"I  want  to  see  you  do  it,"  cried  Cargan.    "If 


258  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

you  think  I've  come  up  here  on  a  pleasure  trip, 
I  got  a  chart  and  a  pointer  all  ready  for  your 
next  lesson.  And  let  me  put  you  wise — this 
nobby  little  idea  of  yours  about  Baldpate  Inn  is 
the  worst  ever.  The  place  is  as  full  of  people 
as  if  the  regular  summer  rates  was  being 
charged." 

"The  devil  it  is!"  cried  Hayden.  His  voice 
betrayed  a  startled  annoyance. 

"It  hasn't  worried  me  none,"  went  on  the 
mayor.  "They  can't  touch  me.  I  own  the  prose 
cutor,  and  you  know  it.  But  it  ain't  going  to  do 
you  any  good  on  the  avenue  if  you're  seen  here 
with  me.  Is  it,  Mr.  Hayden?" 

"The  more  reason,"  replied  Hayden,  "for  get 
ting  the  money  and  leaving  at  once.  I'm  not 
afraid  of  you,  Cargan.  I'm  armed." 

"I  ain't,"  sneered  the  mayor.  "But  no  ex 
quisite  from  your  set  with  his  little  air-gun  ever 
scared  me.  You  try  to  get  away  from  here  with 
that  bundle  and  you'll  find  yourself  all  tangled 
Up  in  the  worst  scrap  that  ever  happened." 

"Where's  the  money,  Joe?"  asked  Hayden. 

"You  won't  wait — "  Bland  begged. 


THE   EXQUISITE   MR.   HAYDEN      259 

"Wait  to  get  my  own  money— I  guess  not. 
Show  me  where  it  is." 

"Remember/*  put  in  Cargan,  "that  money's 
mine.  And  don't  have  any  pipe  dreams  about  the 
law — the  law  ain't  called  into  things  of  this  sort 
as  a  rule.  I  guess  you'd  be  the  last  to  call  it. 
You'll  never  get  away  from  here  with  my 
money." 

Mr.  Magee  opened  the  card-room  door  far 
ther,  and  saw  the  figure  of  the  stranger  Hayden 
confronting  the  mayor.  Mr.  Cargan's  title  of 
exquisite  best  described  him.  The  newcomer 
was  tall,  fair,  fastidious  in  dress  and  manner.  A 
revolver  gleamed  in  his  hand. 

"Joe,"  he  said  firmly,  "take  me  to  that  money 
at  once." 

"It's  out  here,"  replied  Bland.  He  and  Hay- 
den  disappeared  through  the  dining-room  door 
into  the  darkness.  Cargan  and  Max  followed 
close  behind. 

Hot  with  excitement,  Mr.  Magee  slipped  from 
his  place  of  concealment.  A  battle  fit  for  the 
gods  was  in  the  air.  He  must  be  in  the  midst  of 
it — perhaps  again  in  a  three-cornered  fight  it 


2<5o     SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

would  be  the  third  party  that  would  emerge  vic 
torious. 

In  the  darkness  of  the  dining-room  he  bumped 
into  a  limp  clinging  figure.  It  proved  to  be  the 
Hermit  of  Baldpate  Mountain. 

"I  got  to  talk  to  you,  Mr.  Magee,"  he  whis 
pered  in  a  frightened  tremolo.  "I  got  to  have  a 
word  with  you  this  minute." 

"Not  now,"  cried  Magee,  pushing  him  aside. 
"Later." 

The  hermit  wildly  seized  his  arm. 

"No,  now,"  he  said.  "There's  strange  goings- 
on,  here,  Mr.  Magee.  I  got  something  to  tell  you 
— about  a  package  of  money  I  found  in  the 
kitchen." 

Mr.  Magee  stood  very  still.  Beside  him  in  the 
darkness  he  heard  the  hermit's  excited  breathing. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  SIGN  OF  THE  OPEN  WINDOW 

UNDECIDED,  Mr.  Magee  looked  toward 
the  kitchen  door,  from  behind  which  came 
the  sound  of  men's  voices.  Then  he  smiled, 
turned  and  led  Mr.  Peters  back  into  the  office. 
The  Hermit  of  Baldpate  fairly  trembled  with 
news. 

"Since  I  broke  in  on  you  yesterday  morning," 
he  said  in  a  low  tone  as  he  took  a  seat  on  the  edge 
of  a  chair,  "one  thing  has  followed  another  so 
fast  that  I'm  a  little  dazed.  I  can't  just  get  the 
full  meaning  of  it  all." 

"You  have  nothing  on  me  there,  Peters," 
Magee  answered.  "I  can't  either." 

"Well,"  went  on  the  hermit,  "as  I  say,  through 

all  this  downpour  of  people,  including  women, 

I've  hung  on  to  one  idea.    I'm  working  for  you. 

You  give  me  my  wages.    You're  the  boss.  That's 

261 


262  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

why  I  feel  I  ought  to  give  what  information  I 
got  to  you." 

"Yes,  yes,"  Mr.  Magee  agreed  impatiently. 
"Go  ahead." 

"Where  you  find  women,"  Peters  continued, 
"there  you  find  things  beyond  understanding. 
History—"  • 

"Get  to  the  point." 

"Well — yes.  This  afternoon  I  was  looking 
round  through  the  kitchen,  sort  of  reconnoitering, 
you  might  say,  and  finding  out  what  I  have  to 
work  with,  for  just  between  us,  when  some  of 
this  bunch  goes  I'll  easily  be  persuaded  to  come 
back  and  cook  for  you.  I  was  hunting  round  in 
the  big  refrigerator  with  a  candle,  thinking  may 
be  some  little  token  of  food  had  been  left  over 
from  last  summer's  rush — something  in  a  can 
that  time  can  not  wither  nor  custom  stale,  as  the 
poet  says — and  away  up  on  the  top  shelf,  in  the 
darkest  corner,  I  found  a  little  package." 

"Quick,  Peters,"  cried  Magee,  "where  is  thai 
package  now?" 

"I'm  coming  to  that,"  went  on  the  hermit,  not 
to  be  hurried.  "What  struck  me  first  about  the 


THE   OPEN   WINDOW  263 

thing  was  it  didn't  have  any  dust  on  it.  'Aha/  I 
says,  or  words  to  that  effect.  I  opened  it.  What 
do  you  think  was  in  it?" 

"I  don't  have  to  think — I  know,"  said  Magee. 
"Money.  In  the  name  of  heaven,  Peters,  tell 
me  where  you've  got  the  thing." 

"Just  a  minute,  Mr.  Magee.  Let  me  tell  it 
my  way.  You're  right.  There  was  money  in 
that  package.  Lots  of  it.  Enough  to  found  a 
university,  or  buy  a  woman's  gowns  for  a  year. 
I  was  examining  it  careful-like  when  a  shadow 
came  in  the  doorway.  I  looked  up — " 

"Who?"  asked  Magee  breathlessly. 

"That  little  blinky-eyed  Professor  Bolton  was 
standing  there,  most  owlish  and  interested.  He 
came  into  the  refrigerator.  That  package  you 
have  in  your  hand,  Peters,'  he  says,  'belongs  to 
me.  I  put  it  in  cold  storage  so  it  would  keep. 
I'll  take  it  now.'  Well,  Mr.  Magee,  I'm  a  peace 
ful  man.  I  could  have  battered  that  professor 
into  a  learned  sort  of  jelly  if  I'd  wanted  to.  But 
I'm  a  great  admirer  of  Mr.  Carnegie,  on  account 
of  the  library,  and  I  go  in  for  peace.  I  knew  it 
wasn't  exactly  the  thing,  but — " 


264     SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

"You  gave  him  the  package?" 

"That's  hardly  the  way  I  would  put  it,  Mn 
Magee.  I  made  no  outcry  or  resistance  when  he 
took  it.  Tm  just  a  cook/  I  says,  'in  this  house. 
I  ain't  the  trusted  old  family  retainer  that  retains 
its  fortunes  like  a  safety  deposit  vault'  So  I  let 
go  the  bundle.  It  was  weak  of  me,  I  know,  but 
I  sort  of  got  the  habit  of  giving  up  money,  being 
married  so  many  years." 

"Peters,"  said  Mr.  Magee,  *Tm  sorry  your 
grip  was  so  insecure,  but  I'm  mighty  glad  you 
came  to  me  with  this  matter." 

"He  told  me  I  wasn't  to  mention  it  to  any 
body,"  replied  the  hermit,  "but  as  I  say,  I  sort 
of  look  on  it  that  we  were  here  first,  and  if  our 
guests  get  to  chasing  untold  wealth  up  and  down 
the  place,  we  ought  to  let  each  other  in  on  it." 

"Correct,"  answered  Magee.  "You  are  a  val 
uable  man,  Peters.  I  want  you  to  know  that  I 
Appreciate  the  way  you  have  acted  in  this  affair." 
Four  shadowy  figures  tramped  in  through  the 
dining-room  door.  "I  should  say,"  he  continued, 
"that  the  menu  you  propose  for  dinner  will 
prove  most  gratifying." 


THE  OPEN  .WINDOW  265 

"What— oh— yes,  sir,"  said  Peters.  "Is  that 
all?" 

"Quite,"  smiled  Magee.  "Unless — just  a  min 
ute,  this  may  concern  you — on  my  word,  there's 
another  new  face  at  Baldpate." 

He  stood  up,  and  in  the  light  of  the  fire  met 
Hayden.  Now  he  saw  that  the  face  of  the  latest 
comer  was  scheming  and  weak,  and  that  under 
a  small  blond  mustache  a  very  cruel  mouth 
sought  to  hide.  The  stranger  gazed  at  Magee 
with  an  annoyance  plainly  marked. 

"A  friend  of  mine — Mr. — er — Downs,  Mr. 
Magee,"  muttered  Bland. 

"Oh,  come  now,"  smiled  Magee.  "Let's  tell 
our  real  names.  I  heard  you  greeting  your  friend 
a  minute  ago.  How  are  you,  Mr.  Hayden?" 

He  held  out  his  hand.  Hayden  looked  him 
angrily  in  the  eyes. 

"Who  the  devil  are  you?"  he  asked. 

"Do  you  mean,"  said  Magee,  "that  you  didn't 
catch  the  name.  It's  Magee — William  Hallowell 
Magee.  I  hold  a  record  hereabouts,  Mr.  Hayden. 
I  spent  nearly  an  hour  at  Baldpate  Inn — alone. 
You  see,  I  was  the  first  of  our  amiable  little  party 


266  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

to  arrive.  Let  me  make  you  welcome.  Are  you 
staying  to  dinner  ?  You  must." 

"I'm  not,"  growled  Hayden. 

"Don't  believe  him,  Mr.  Magee,"  sneered  the 
mayor,  "he  doesn't  always  say  what  he  means. 
He's  going  to  stay,  all  right." 

"Yes,  you'd  better,  Mr.  Hayden,"  advised 
Bland. 

"Huh — delighted,  I'm  sure,"  snapped  Haydea 
He  strolled  over  to  the  wall,  and  in  the  light  of 
the  fire  examined  a  picture  nonchalantly. 

"The  pride  of  our  inn,"  Mr.  Magee,  follow 
ing,  explained  pleasantly,  "the  admiral.  It  is 
within  these  very  walls  in  summer  that  he  plays 
his  famous  game  of  solitaire." 

Hayden  wheeled  quickly,  and  looked  Magee  in 
the  eyes.  A  flush  crossed  his  face,  leaving  it 
paler  than  before.  He  turned  away  without 
speaking. 

"Peters,"  said  Magee,  "you  heard  what 
Mr.  Hayden  said.  An  extra  plate  at  dinner, 
please.  I  must  leave  you  for  a  moment,  gentle 
men."  He  saw  that  their  eyes  followed  him 


THE   OPEN   WINDOW  267 

eagerly — full  of  suspicion,  menacing.  "We  shall 
all  meet  again,  very  shortly." 

Hayden  slipped  quickly  between  Magee  and 
the  stairs.  The  latter  faced  him  smilingly,  re 
flecting  as  he  did  so  that  he  could  love  this  man 
but  little. 

"Who  are  you?"  said  Hayden  again.  "What 
is  your  business  here  ?" 

Magee  laughed  outright,  and  turned  to  the 
other  men. 

"How  unfortunate,"  he  said,  "this  gentleman 
does  not  know  the  manners  and  customs  of  Bald- 
pate  in  winter.  Those  are  questions,  Mr.  Hay 
den,  that  we  are  never  impolite  enough  to  ask  of 
one  another  up  here."  He  moved  on  toward  the 
stairs,  and  reluctantly  Hayden  got  out  of  his 
path.  "I  am  very  happy,"  he  added,  "that  you 
are  to  be  with  us  at  dinner.  It  will  not  take  you 
long  to  accustom  yourself  to  our  ways,  I'm  sure." 

He  ran  up  the  stairs  and  passed  through  num 
ber  seven  out  upon  the  balcony.  Trudging 
through  the  snow,  he  soon  sighted  the  room  of 
Professor  Bolton.  And  as  he  did  so,  a  little 


268  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

shiver  that  was  not  due  to  atmospheric  conditions 
ran  down  his  spine.  For  one  of  the  professor's 
windows  stood  wide  open,  bidding  a  welcome  to 
the  mountain  storm.  Peters  had  spoken  the  truth. 
Once  more  that  tight  little,  right  little  package 
was  within  Mr.  Magee's  ken. 

He  stepped  through  the  open  window,  and 
closed  it  after  him.  By  the  table  sat  Professor 
Bolton,  wrapped  in  coats  and  blankets,  reading 
by  the  light  of  a  solitary  candle.  The  book  was 
held  almost  touching  his  nose — a  reminder  of  the 
spectacles  tnat  were  gone.  As  Magee  entered 
the  old  man  looked  up,  and  a  very  obvious  ex 
pression  of  fright  crossed  his  face. 

"Good  evening,  Professor/'  said  Magee  easily. 
"Don't  you  find  it  rather  cool  with  the  window 
open?" 

"Mr.  Magee,"  replied  the  much  wrapped  gen 
tleman,  "I  am  that  rather  disturbing  progressive 
— a  fresh  air  devotee.  I  feel  that  God's  good  air 
was  meant  to  be  breathed,  not  barricaded  from 
our  bodies." 

"Perhaps,"  suggested  Magee,  "I  should  have 
left  the  window  open  ?" 


THE  OPEN  WINDOW  269 

The  old  man  regarded  him  narrowly. 

"I  have  no  wish  to  be  inhospitable,  "  he  replied. 
"But — if  you  please — " 

"Certainly,"  answered  Magee.  He  threw  open 
the  window.  The  professor  held,  up  his  book. 

"I  was  passing  the  time  before  dinner  with  my 
pleasant  old  companion,  Montaigne.  Mr.  Magee, 
have  you  ever  read  his  essay  on  liars  ?" 

"Never,"  said  Magee.  "But  I  do  not  blame 
you  for  brushing  up  on  it  at  the  present  time, 
Professor.  I  have  come  to  apologize.  Yester 
day  morning  I  referred  in  a  rather  unpleasant 
way  to  a  murder  in  the  chemical  laboratory  at 
one  of  our  universities.  I  said  that  the  professor 
of  chemistry  was  missing.  This  morning's  pa 
per,  which  I  secured  from  Mr.  Peters,  informs  me 
that  he  has  been  apprehended." 

"You  need  not  have  troubled  to  tell  me,"  said 
the  old  man.  He  smiled  his  bleak  smile. 

"I  did  you  an  injustice,"  went  on  Magee. 

"Let  us  say  no  more  of  it,"  pleaded  Professor 
Bolton. 

Mr.  Magee  walked  about  the  room.  Warily 
the  professor  turned  so  that  the  other  was  at  no 


270  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

instant  at  his  back.  He  looked  so  helpless,  so 
little,  so  ineffectual,  that  Mr.  Magee  abandoned 
his  first  plan  of  leaping  upon  him  there  in  the 
silence.  By  more  subtle  means  than  this  must  his 
purpose  be  attained. 

"I  suppose,"  he  said,  "your  love  of  fresh  air 
accounts  for  the  strolls  on  the  balcony  at  all 
hours  of  the  night?" 

The  old  man  merely  blinked  at  him. 

"I  mustn't  stop,"  Magee  continued.  "I  just 
wanted  to  make  my  apology,  that's  all.  It  was 
unjust  of  me.  Murder — that  is  hardly  in  your 
line.  By  the  way,  were  you  by  any  chance  in  my 
room  this  morning,  Professor  Bolton?" 

Silence. 

"Pardon  me,"  remarked  the  professor  at  last, 
"if  I  do  not  answer.  In  this  very  essay  on — on 
liars,  Montaigne  has  expressed  it  so  well.  'And 
how  much  is  a  false  speech  less  sociable  than 
silence.'  I  am  a  sociable  man." 

"Of  course,"  smiled  Magee.  He  stood  look 
ing  down  at  the  frail  old  scholar  before  him,  and 
considered.  Of  what  avail  u  scuffle  there  in  that 
chill  room?  The  package  was  no  doubt  safely 


THE  OPEN  WINDOW 

hidden  in  a  corner  he  could  not  quickly  find.    No, 
he  must  wait,  and  watch. 

"Good-by,  until  dinner,"  he  said,  "and  may  you\- 
find  much  in  your  wise  companion's  book  to  jus 
tify  your  conduct." 

He  went  out  through  the  open  window,  and  in'' 
another  moment  stood  just  outside  Miss  Nor-, 
ton's  room.  She  put  a  startled  head  out  at  his] 
knock. 

"Oh,  it's  you,"  she  said.  "I  can't  invite  you, 
in.  You  might  learn  terrible  secrets  of  the  dress-! 
ing-table — mamma  is  bedecking  herself  for  din 
ner.  Has  anything  happened  ?" 

"Throw  something  over  your  head,  Juliet," 
smiled  Magee,  "the  balcony  is  waiting  for  you." 

She  was  at  his  side  in  a  moment,  and  they 
walked  briskly  along  the  shadowy  white  floor. 

"I  know  who  has  the  money,"   said  Magee 
softly.    "Simply  through  a  turn  of  luck,  I  know. 
I  realize  that  my  protestations  of  what  I  am  go- 1 
ing  to  do  have  bored  you.     But  it  looks  very' 
much  to  me  as  if  that  package  would  be  in  your 
hands  very  soon." 

She  did  not  reply. 


272  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"And  when  I  have  got  it,  and  have  given  it  to 
you — if  I  do,"  he  continued,  "what  then?" 

"Then,"  she  answered,   "I  must  go  away- 
very  quickly.     And  no  one  must  know,  or  they 
'will  try  to  stop  me." 

"And  after  that?" 

"The  deluge,"  she  laughed  without  mirth. 

Up  above  them  the  great  trees  of  Baldpate 
Mountain  waved  their  black  arms  constantly  as 
though  sparring  with  the  storm.  At  the  foot  of 
the  buried  roadway  they  could  see  the  lamps  of 
Upper  Afjquewan  Falls;  under  those  lamps  pro 
saic  citizens  were  hurrying  home  with  the  supper 
groceries  through  the  night.  And  not  one  of 
those  citizens  was  within  miles  of  guessing  that 
up  on  the  balcony  of  Baldpate  Inn  a  young  man 
had  seized  a  young  woman's  hand,  and  was  say 
ing  wildly:  "Beautiful  girl — I  love  you." 

Yet  that  was  exactly  what  Billy  Magee  was . 
doing.    The  girl  had  turned  her  face  away. 

"You've  known  me  just  two  days,"  she  said. 

"If  I  can  care  this  much  in  two  days,"  he  said, 
wthink — but  that's  old,  isn't  it?  Sometime  soon 
I'm  going  to  say  to  you:  '.Whose  girl  are  you?* 


THE   OPEN   WINDOW  273 

and  you're  going  to  look  up  at  me  with  a  lit 
tle  heaven  for  two  in  your  eyes  and  say:  Tm 
Billy  Magee's  girl.'  So  before  we  go  any  further 
I  must  confess  everything — I  must  tell  you  who 
this  Billy  Magee  is — this  man  you're  going  to 
admit  you  belong  to,  my  dear." 

"You  read  the  future  glibly,"  she  replied.  "Are 
your  prophecies  true,  I  wonder?" 

"Absolutely.  Some  time  ago — on  my  soul,  it 
was  only  yesterday — I  asked  if  you  had  read  a 
certain  novel  called  The  Lost  Limousine,  and 
you  said  you  had,  and  that — it  wasn't  sincere. 
Well,  I  wrote  it—" 

"Oh!"  cried  the  girl. 

"Yes,"  said  Magee,  "and  I've  done  others  like 
it.  Oh,  yes,  my  muse  has  been  a  nouveau  riche 
lady  in  a  Worth  gown,  my  ambition  a  big  red 
motor-car.  I've  been  a  'scramble  a  cent,  mister' 
troubadour  beckoning  from  the  book-stalls.  It 
was  good  fun  writing  those  things,  and  it 
brought  me  more  money  than  was  good 
for  me.  I'm  not  ashamed  of  them;  they 
were  all  right  as  a  beginning  in  the  game. 
But  the  other  day — I  thought  an  advertisement 


274  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

did  the  trick — I  turned  tired  of  that  sort,  and  I 
decided  to  try  the  other  kind — the  real  kind.  I 
thought  it  was  an  advertisement  that  did  it — but 
I  see  now  it  was  because  you  were  just  a  few 
days  away." 

"Don't  tell  me,"  whispered  the  girl,  "that  you 
came  up  here  to — to — " 

"Yes,"  smiled  Magee,  "I  came  up  here  to  for 
get  forever  the  world's  giddy  melodrama,  the 
wild  chase  for  money  through  deserted  rooms, 
shots  in  the  night,  cupid  in  the  middle  distance. 
I  came  here  to  do — literature — if  it's  in  me  to 
do  it." 

The  girl  leaned  limply  against  the  side  of  Bald- 
pate  Inn. 

"Oh,  the  irony  of  it !"  she  cried. 

"I  know,"  he  said,  "it's  ridiculous.  I  think  all 
this  is  meant  just  for — temptation.  I  shall  be 
firm.  I'll  remember  your  parable  of  the  blind 
girl — and  the  lamp  that  was  not  lighted.  I'll  do 
the  real  stuff.  So  that  when  you  say — as  you 
certainly  must  some  day — I'm  Billy  Magee's 
girl'  you  can  say  it  proudly." 

"I'm  sure,"  she  said  softly,  "that  if  I  ever  do 


THE  OPEN  WINDOW  275 

say  it— oh,  no,  I  didn't  say  I  would" — for  he  had 
seized  her  hands  quickly — "if  I  ever  do  say  it — it 
will  certainly  be  proudly.  But  now — you  don't 
even  know  my  name — my  right  one.  You  don't 
know  what  I  do,  nor  where  I  come  from,  nor 
what  I  want  with  this  disgusting  bundle  of 
money.  I  sort  of  feel,  you  know — that  this  is  in 
the  air  at  Baldpate,  even  in  the  winter  time.  No 
sooner  have  the  men  come  than  they  begin  to  talk 
of — love — to  whatever  girls  they  find  here — on 
this  very  balcony — down  there  under  the  trees. 
And  the  girls  listen,  for — it's  in  the  air,  that's  all. 
Then  autumn  comes,  and  everybody  laughs,  and 
forgets.  May  not  our  autumn  come — when  I 
go  away  ?" 

"Never,"  cried  Magee.  "This  is  no  summer 
hotel  affair  to  me.  It's  a  real  in  winter  and 
summer  love,  my  dear — in  spring  and  fall — and 
when  you  go  away,  I'm  going  too,  about  ten  feet 
behind." 

"Yes,"  she  laughed,  "they  talk  that  way  at 
Baldpate — the  last  weeks  of  summer.  It's  part 
of  the  game."  They  had  come  to  the  side  of  the 
hotel  on  which  was  the  annex,  and  the  girl 


276  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

stopped  and  pointed.  "Look!"  she  whispered 
^breathlessly. 

In  a  window  of  the  annex  had  appeared  for  a 
moment  a  flickering  yellow  light.  But  only  for  a 
moment. 

"I  know,"  said  Mr.  Magee.  "There's  some 
body  in  there.  But  that  isn't  important  in  com 
parison.  This  is  no  summer  affair,  dear.  Look 
to  the  thermometer  for  proof.  I  love  you.  And 
when  you  go  away,  I  shall  follow." 

"And  the  book—" 

"I  have  found  better  inspiration  than  Bald- 
pate  Inn." 

They  walked  along  for  a  time  in  silence. 

"You  forget,"  said  the  girl,  "you  only  know 
who  has  the  money." 

"I  will  get  it,"  he  answered  confidently. 
"Something  tells  me  I  will.  Until  I  do,  I  am 
content  to  say  no  more." 

"Good-by,"  said  the  girl.  She  stood  in  the 
window  of  her  room,  while  a  harsh  voice  called 
"That  you,  dearie?"  from  inside.  "And  I  may 
add,"  she  smiled,  "that  in  my  profession^-a  fol 
lowing  is  considered  quite — desirable." 


THE   OPEN    WINDOW  277 

She  disappeared,  and  Mr.  Magee,  after  a  few 
minutes  in  his  room,  descended  again  to  the  office. 
In  the  center  of  the  room,  Elijah  Quimby  and 
Hayden  stood  face  to  face. 

"What  is  it,  Quimby?"  asked  Magee. 

"I  just  ran  up  to  see  how  things  were  going," 
Quimby  replied,  "and  I  find  him  here." 

"Our  latest  guest,"  smiled  Magee. 

"I  was  just  reminding  Mr.  Hayden,"  Quimby 
said,  his  teeth  set,  an  angry  light  in  his  eyes, 
"that  the  last  time  we  met  he  ordered  me  from 
his  office.  I  told  you,  Mr.  Magee,  that  the  Su 
burban  Railway  once  promised  to  make  use  of 
my  invention.  Then  Mr.  Kendrick  went  away — 
and  this  man  took  charge.  When  I  came  around 
to  the  offices  again — he  laughed  at  me.  When  1 
came  the  second  time,  he  called  me  a  loafer  and 
ordered  me  out." 

He  paused,  and  faced  Hayden  again. 

"I've  grown  bitter,  here  on  the  mountain,"  he 
said,  "as  I've  thought  over  what  you  and  men 
like  you  said  to  me — as  I've  thought  of  what 
might  have  been — and  what  was — yes,  I've 
grown  pretty  bitter.  Time  after  time  I've  gone 


278  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

over  in  my  mind  that  scene  in  your  office.  As 
I've  sat  here  thinking  you've  come  to  mean  to  me 
all  the  crowd  that  made  a  fool  of  me.  You've 
come  to  mean  to  me  all  the  crowd  that  said  'The 
public  be.  damned'  in  my  ear.  I  haven't  ever  for 
got — how  you  ordered  me  out  of  your  office." 

"Well?"  asked  Hayden. 

"And  now,"  Quimby  went  on,  "I  find  you  tres 
passing  in  a  hotel  left  in  my  care — the  tables  are 
turned.  I  ought  to  show  you  the  door.  I  ought 
to  put  you  out." 

"Try  it,"  sneered  Hayden. 

"No,"  answered  Quimby,  "I  ain't  going  to  do 
it.  Maybe  it's  because  I've  grown  timid,  brood 
ing  over  my  failure.  And  maybe  it's  because  I 
know  who's  got  the  seventh  key." 

Hayden  made  no  reply.  No  one  stirred  for  a 
minute,  and  then  Quimby  moved  away,  and  went 
out  through  the  dining-room  door. 


CHAPTER  XV 

TABLE  TALK 

THE  seventh  key!  Mr.  Magee  thrilled  at 
the  mention  of  it.  So  Elijah  Quimby  knew; 
the  identity  and  the  mission  of  the  man  who 
hid  in  the  annex.  Did  any  one  else?  Magee 
looked  at  the  broad  acreage  of  the  mayor's  face, 
at  the  ancient  lemon  of  Max's,  at  Eland's,  fright 
ened  and  thoughtful,  at  Hayden's,  concerned  but 
smiling.  Did  any  one  else  know?  Ah,  yes,  of 
course.  Down  the  stairs  the  professor  of  Com 
parative  Literature  felt  his  way  to  food. 

"Is  dinner  ready  ?"  he  asked,  peering  about. 

The  candles  flickered  weakly  as  they  fought 
the  stronger  shadows;  winter  roared  at  the  win 
dows;  somewhere  above  a  door  crashed  shut 
Close  to  its  final  scene  drew  the  drama  at  Bald- 
pate  Inn.  Mr.  Magee  knew  it,  he  could  not  have 
told  why.  The  others  seemed  to  know  it,  too.  In 
silence  they  waited  while  the  hermit  scurried 


280  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE  < 

along  his  dim  way  preparing  the  meal.  In  silence 
they  sat  while  Miss  Norton  and  her  mother  de 
scended.  Once  there  was  a  little  flurry  of  inter 
est  when  Miss  Thornhill  and  Hayden  met  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs. 

"Myra !"  Hayden  cried.  "In  heaven's  name — 
what  does  this  mean?" 

"Unfortunately,"  said  the  girl,  "I  know— all 
it  means." 

And  Hayden  fell  back  into  the  shadows. 

Finally  the  attitude  of  the  hermit  suggested 
that  the  dinner  was  ready. 

"I  guess  you  might  as  well  sit  down,"  he  re 
marked.  "It's  all  fixed,  what  there  is  to  fix. 
This  place  don't  need  a  cook,  it  needs  a  commis 
sary  department." 

"Peters,"  reproved  Mag^e.  "That's  hardly 
courteous  to  our  guests." 

"Living  alone  on  the  mountain,"  replied  the 
hermit  from  the  dining-room  door,  "you  get  to 
have  such  a  high  regard  for  the  truth  you  can't 
put  courtesy  first.  You  want  to,  but  you  haven't 
the  heart." 

The  winter  guests  took  their  places  at  the  table, 


TABLE   TALK  281 

and  the  second  December  dinner  at  Baldpate  Inn 
got  under  way.  But  not  so  genially  as  on  the 
previous  night  did  it  progress.  On  the  faces  of 
those  about  him  Mr.  Magee  noted  worry  and 
suspicion;  now  and  again  menacing  cold  eyes) 
were  turned  upon  him;  evidently  first  in  the 
thoughts  of  those  at  table  was  a  little  package 
rich  in  treasure;  and  evidently  first  in  the 
thoughts  of  most  of  them,  as  the  probable  holder 
of  that  package,  was  Mr.  Magee  himself.  Sev 
eral  times  he  looked  up  to  find  Max's  cat-like 
eyes  upon  him,  sinister  and  cruel  behind  the  in 
congruous  gold-rimmed  glasses;  several  times  he 
saw  Hayden's  eyes,  hostile  and  angry,  seek  his 
face.  They  were  desperate;  they  would  stop  at 
nothing;  Mr.  Magee  felt  that  as  the  drama  drew 
to  its  close  they  saw  him  and  him  alone  between 
them  and  their  golden  desires. 

"Before  I  came  up  here  to  be  a  hermit,"  re 
marked  Cargan  contemporaneously  with  the  re 
moval  of  the  soup,  "which  I  may  say  in  passing 
I  ain't  been  able  to  be  with  any  success  owing  to 
the  popularity  of  the  sport  on  Baldpate  Moun 
tain,  there  was  never  any  candles  on  the  table 


282  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

where  I  et.  No,  sir.  I  left  them  to  the  people 
up  on  the  avenue — to  Mr.  Hayden  and  his  kind 
that  like  to  work  in  dim  surroundings — I  was 
always  strong  for  a  bright  light  on  my  food. 
What  I'm  afraid  of  is  that  I'll  get  the  habit  up 
here,  and  will  be  wanting  Charlie  to  set  out  a 
silver  candelabrum  with  my  lager.  Candles'd  be 
quite  an  innovation  at  Charlie's,  wouldn't  they, 
Lou?" 

"Too  swell  for  Charlie's,"  commented  Mr. 
Max.  "Except  after  closing  hours.  I've  seen 
'em  in  use  there  then,  but  the  idea  wasn't  glory 
and  decoration." 

"I  hope  you  don't  dislike  the  candles,  Mr. 
Casgan,"  remarked  Miss  Norton.  "They  add 
such  a  lot  to  the  romance  of  the  affair,  don't  you 
think?  I'm  terribly  thrilled  by  all  this.  The  rat 
tling  of  the  windows,  and  the  flickering  light — 
two  lines  of  a  poem  keep  running  through  my 
head : 

'  'My  lord  he  followed  after  one  who  whispered 

in  his  ear — 
The  weeping  of  the  candles  and  the  wind  is  all  I 

hear.' 


TABLE   TALK  283 

I  don't  know  who  the  lord  was,  nor  what  he  fol 
lowed — perhaps  the  seventh  key.  But  the  weep 
ing  candles  and  the  wind  seem  so  romantic — and 
so  like  Baldpate  Inn  to-night. " 

"If  I  had  a  daughter  your  age/'  commented 
Cargan,  not  unkindly,  "she'd  be  at  home  reading 
Laura  Jean  Libbey  by  the  fire,  and  not  chasing 
after  romance  on  a  mountain." 

"That  would  be  best  for  her,  I'm  sure,"  replied 
the  girl  sweetly.  "For  then  she  wouldn't  be  like 
ly  to  find  out  things  about  her  father  that  would 
prove  disquieting." 

"Dearie!"  cried  Mrs.  Norton.  No  one  else 
spoke,  but  all  looked  at  the  mayor.  He  was  bus 
ily  engaged  with  his  food.  Smiling  his  amuse 
ment,  Mr.  Magee  sought  to  direct  the  conversa 
tion  into  less  personal  channels. 

"We  hear  so  much  about  romance,  especially 
since  its  widely  advertised  death,"  he  said.  "And 
to  every  man  I  ever  met,  it  meant  something  dif 
ferent.  Mr.  Cargan,  speaking  as  a  broad-minded 
man  of  the  world — what  does  romance  mean  to 
you?" 


284  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

The  mayor  ran  his  fingers  through  his  graying 
hair,  and  considered  seriously. 

"Romance,"  he  reflected.  "Well,  I  ain't  much 
on  the  talk  out  of  books.  But  here's  what  I 
see  when  you  say  that  word  to  me.  It's  the  night 
before  election,  and  I'm  standing  in  the  front 
window  of  the  little  room  on  Main  Street  where 
the  boys  can  always  find  me.  Down  the  street  I 
hear  the  snarl  and  rumble  of  bands,  and  pretty 
soon  I  see  the  yellow  flicker  of  torches,  like  the 
flicker  of  that  candle,  and  the  bobbing  of  banners. 
And  then — the  boys  march  by.  All  the  boys! 
Pat  Doherty,  and  Bob  Larsen,  and  Matt  Sanders 
— all  the  boys!  And  when  they  get  to  my  win 
dow  they  wave  their  hats  and  cheer.  Just  a  fat 
old  man  in  that  window,  but  they'll  go  to  the 
pavement  with  any  guy  that  knocks  him. 
They're  loyal.  They're  for  me.  And  so  they 
march  by — cheering  and  singing — all  the  boys — 
just  for  me  to  see  and  hear.  Well — that — that's 
romance  to  me." 

"Power,"  translated  Mr.  Magee. 

"Yes,  sir,"  cried  the  mayor.    "I  know  I've  got 


TABLE  TALK  285 

them.  All  the  reformers  in  the  world  can't  spoil 
my  thrill  then.  They're  mine.  I  guess  old  Na 
poleon  knew  that  thrill.  I  guess  he  was  the  great 
est  romancer  the  world  ever  knew.  When  he 
marched  over  the  mountains  with  his  starving 
bunch — and  looked  back  and  saw  them  in  rags 
and  suffering — for  him — well  I  reckon  old  Nap 
was  as  close  to  romance  then  as  any  man  ever 
gets." 

"I  wonder/'  answered  Mr.  Magee.  It  came  to 
him  suddenly  that  in  each  person's  definition  of 
this  intangible  thing  might  lie  exposed  something 
of  both  character  and  calling.  At  the  far  end  of 
the  table  Mrs.  Norton's  lined  tired  face  met  his 
gaze.  To  her  he  put  his  question. 

"Well,"  she  answered,  and  her  voice  seemed 
softer  than  its  wont,  "I  ain't  thought  much  of  that 
word  for  a  good  many  years  now.  But  when  I 
do — say,  I  seem  to  see  myself  sitting  on  our 
porch  back  home — thirty  years  ago.  I've  got  on 
a  simple  little  muslin  dress,  and  I'm  slender  as 
Elsie  Janis,  and  the  color  in  my  cheeks  is — well, 
it's  the  sort  that  Norton  likes.  And  my  hair — > 
but — I'm  thinking  of  him,  of  Norton.  He's  told 


286  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

me  he  wants  to  make  me  happy  for  life,  and  I've 
about  decided  I'll  let  him  try.  I  see  him — com 
ing  up  our  front  walk.  Coming  to  call  on  me — 
lhave  I  mentioned  I've  got  a  figure — a  real  sweet 
figure?  That's  about  what  romance  means  to 


me." 


"Youth,  dear?"  asks  Miss  Norton  gently. 

"That's  it,  dearie,"  answered  the  older  woman 
dreamily.    "Youth." 

For  a  time  those  about  the  table  sat  in  silence, 
picturing  no  doubt  the  slender  figure  on  the  steps 
of  that  porch  long  ago.  Not  without  a  humorous 
sort  of  pity  did  they  glance  occasionally  toward 
the  woman  whom  Norton  had  begged  to  make 
happy.  The  professor  of  Comparative  Litera 
ture  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 
;  "The  dictionary,"  he  remarked  academically, 
"would  define  romance  as  a  species  of  fictitious 
writing  originally  composed  in  the  Romance  dia 
lects,  and  afterward  in  prose.  But — the  diction 
ary  is  prosaic,  it  has  no  soul.  Shall  I  tell  you 
what  romance  means  to  me?  I  will.  I  see  a 
man  toiling  in  a  dim  laboratory,  where  there  are 
strange  fires  and  stranger  odors.  Night  and  day 


TABLE   TALK  287 

he  experiments,  the  love  of  his  kind  in  his  eyes,  a 
desire  to  help  in  his  heart  And  then — the  golden 
moment — the  great  moment  in  that  quiet  dreary 
cell — the  moment  of  the  discovery.  A  serum,  a 
formula — what  not.  He  gives  it  to  the  world, 
and  a  few  of  the  sick  are  well  again,  and  a  few  of 
the  sorrowful  are  glad.  Romance  means  neither 
youth  nor  power  to  me.  It  means — service." 

He  bent  his  dim  old  eyes  on  his  food,  and  Mr. 
Magee  gazed  at  him  with  a  new  wonder.  Odd 
sentiments  these  from  an  old  man  who  robbed 
fireplaces,  held  up  hermits,  and  engaged  in  mid 
night  conferences  by  the  annex  door.  More  than 
ever  Magee  was  baffled,  enthralled,  amused.  Now 
Mr.  Max  leered  about  the  table  and  contributed 
his  unsavory  bit. 

"Funny,  ain't  it,"  he  remarked,  "the  different 
things  the  same  word  means  to  a  bunch  of  folks. 
Say  romance  to  me,  and  I  don't  see  no  dim  labo 
ratory.  I  don't  see  nothing  dim.  I  see  the  bright 
est  lights  in  the  world,  and  the  best  food,  and 
somebody,  maybe,  dancing  the  latest  freak  dance 
in  between  the  tables.  And  an  orchestra  playing 
in  the  distance — classy  dames  all  about — a  taxi 


288  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

clicking  at  the  door.  And  me  sending  word  to 
the  chauffeur  'Let  her  click  till  the  milk  carts 
rumble — I  can  pay/  Say — that  sure  is  romance 
to  me." 

"Mr.  Hayden,"  remarked  Magee,  "are  we  to 
hear  from  you?" 

Hayden  hesitated,  and  looked  for  a  moment 
into  the  black  eyes  of  Myra  Thornhill. 

"My  idea  has  often  been  contradicted,"  he 
said,  keeping  his  gaze  on  the  girl,  "it  may  be 
again.  But  to  me  the  greatest  romance  in  the 
world  is  the  romance  of  money  making — dollar 
piling  on  dollar  in  the  vaults  of  the  man  who 
started  with  a  shoe-string,  and  hope,  and  nerve. 
I  see  him  fighting  for  the  first  thousand — and 
then  I  see  his  pile  growing,  slowly  at  first — faster 
— faster — faster — until  a  motor-car  brings  him 
to  his  office,  and  men  speak  his  name  with  awe 
in  the  streets." 

"Money,"  commented  Miss  Thornhill  con 
temptuously.  "What  an  idea  of  romance  for  a 
man." 

"I  did  not  expect,"  replied  Hayden,  "that  my 
definition  would  pass  unchallenged.  My  past  ex- 


TABLE  TALK  289 

periences — "  he  looked  meaningly  at  the  girl — 
"had  led  me  to  be  prepared  for  that  But  it  is 
my  definition — I  spoke  the  truth.  You  must  give 
me  credit  for  that." 

"I  ain't  one  to  blame  you,"  sneered  Cargan, 
*'for  wanting  it  noticed  when  you  do  side-step  a 
lie.  Yes,  I  certainly — " 

"See  here,  Cargan,"  blazed  Hayden. 

"Yes,  you  did  speak  the  truth/'  put  in  Miss 
Thornhill  hastily.  "You  mentioned  one  word 
in  your  definition — it  was  a  desecration  to  drag 
it  in — hope.  For  me  romance  means  only — hope. 
And  I'm  afraid  there  are  a  pitiful  number  in  the 
world  to  whom  it  means  the  same." 

"We  ain't  heard  from  the  young  woman  who 
started  all  this  fuss  over  a  little  word,"  Mr.  Car 
gan  reminded  them. 

"That's  right,  dearie,"  said  Mrs.  Norton.  "You 
got  to  contribute." 

"Yes,"  agreed  the  girl  with  the  "locks  crisped 
like  golden  wire,"  "I  will.  But  it's  hard.  Cone's 
ideas  change  so  rapidly.  A  moment  ago  if  you 
had  said  romance  to  me,  I  might  have  babbled  of 
shady  corners,  of  whisperings  on  the  stair,  of 


290  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

walks  down  the  mountain  in  the  moonlight — or 
even  on  the  hotel  balcony."  She  smiled  gaily 
at  Magee.  "Perhaps  to-morrow,  too,  the  word 
might  mean  such  rapturous  things  to  me.  But  to 
night — life  is  too  real  and  earnest  to-night.  Serv 
ice — Professor  Bolton  was  right — service  is  often 
romance.  It  may  mean  the  discovery  of  a  serum 
— it  may  mean  so  cruel  a  thing  as  the  blighting  of 
another's  life  romance."  She  gazed  steadily  at 
the  stolid  Cargan.  "It  may  mean  putting  an  end 
forever  to  those  picturesque  parades  past  the  win 
dow  of  the  little  room  on  Main  Street — the  room 
where  the  boys  can  always  find  the  mayor  of 
Reuton." 

Still  she  gazed  steadily  into  Cargan's  eyes.  And 
with  an  amused  smile  the  mayor  gazed  back. 

"You  wouldn't  be  so  cruel  as  that/'  he  assured 
her  easily ;  "a  nice  attractive  girl  like  you." 

The  dinner  was  at  an  end ;  without  a  word  the 
sly  little  professor  rose  from  the  table  and  hur 
riedly  ascended  the  stairs.  Mr.  Magee  watched 
him  disappear,  and  resolved  to  follow  quickly  on 
his  heels.  But  first  he  paused  to  give  his  own 
version  of  the  word  under  discussion. 


TABLE  TALK  291 

"Strange,"  he  remarked,  "that  none  of  you 
gets  the  picture  I  do.  Romance — it  is  here — at 
your  feet  in  Baldpate  Inn.  A  man  climbs  the 
mountain  to  be  alone  with  his  thoughts,  to  forget 
the  melodrama  of  life,  to  get  away  from  the 
swift  action  of  the  world,  and  meditate.  He  is 
alone — for  very  near  an  hour.  Then  a  telephone 
bell  tinkles,  and  a  youth  rises  out  of  the  dark  to 
prate  of  a  lost  Arabella,  and  haberdashery.  A 
shot  rings  out,  as  the  immemorial  custom  with 
shots,  and  in  comes  a  professor  of  Comparative 
Literature,  with  a  perforation  in  his  derby  hat. 
A  professional  hermit  arrives  to  teach  the  ama 
teur  the  fine  points  of  the  game.  A  charming 
maid  comes  in — too  late  for  breakfast — but  in* 
pknty  of  time  for  walks  on  the  balcony  in  the 
moonlight.  The  mayor  of  a  municipality  conde 
scends  to  stay  for  dinner.  A  battle  in  the  snow 
ensues.  There  is  a  weird  talk  of — a  sum  of 
money.  More  guests  arrive.  Dark  hints  of  a 
seventh  key.  Why,  bless  you,  you  needn't  stir 
from  Baldpate  Inn  in  search  of  your  romance." 

He  crossed  the  floor  hastily,  and  put  one  foot 
on  the  lower  step  of  Baldpate's  grand  stairway. 


SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

He  kept  it  there.  For  from  the  shadows  of  the 
landing  Professor  Bolton  emerged,  his  blasted 
derby  once  more  on  his  head,  his  overcoat  but 
toned  tight,  his  ear-muffs  in  place,  his  traveling- 
bag  and  green  umbrella  in  tow. 

"What,  Professor,"  cried  Magee,  "you're  leav 
ing?" 

Now,  truly,  the  end  of  the  drama  had  come. 
Mr.  Magee  felt  his  heart  beat  wildly.  What  was 
the  end  to  be?  What  did  this  calm  departure 
mean?  Surely  the  little  man  descending  the  stair 
was  not,  Daniel-like,  thrusting  himself  into  this 
lion's  den  with  the  precious  package  in  his  pos 
session  ? 

"Yes,"  the  old  man  was  saying  slowly.  "I  am 
about  to  leave.  The  decision  came  suddenly.  I 
am  sorry  to  go.  Certainly  I  have  enjoyed  these 
chance  meetings." 

"See  here,  Doc,"  said  Mr.  Bland,  uneasily  feel 
ing  of  his  purple  tie,  "you're  not  going  back  and 
let  them  reporters  have  another  fling  at  you  ?" 

"1  fear  I  must,"  replied  the  old  man.  "My 
duty  calls.  Yes,  they  will  hound  me.  I  shall  hear 
much  of  peroxide  blondes.  I  shall  be  asked  again 


TABLE  TALK  293 

to  name  the  ten  greatest  in  history, — a  difficult, 
not  to  say  dangerous  task.  But  I  must  face  the 
— er — music,  as  the  vulgar  expression  goes.  I 
bid  you  good-by,  Mr.  Bland.  We  part  friends,  I 
am  sure.  Again  be  comforted  by  the  thought 
that  I  do  not  hold  the  ruined  derby  against  you. 
Even  though,  as  I  have  remarked  with  unpleasant 
truth,  the  honorarium  of  a  professor  at  our  uni 
versity  is  not  large." 

He  turned  to  Magee. 

"I  regret  more  than  I  can  say/'  he  continued, 
"parting  from  you.  My  eyes  fell  upon  you  first 
on  entering  this  place — we  have  had  exciting 
times  together.  My  dear  Miss  Norton — know 
ing  you  has  refreshed  an  old  man's  heart.  I 
might  compare  you  to  another  with  yellow  locks 
— but  I  leave  that  to  my  younger — er — col 
leagues.  Mr.  Cargan — good-by.  My  acquaint 
ance  with  you  I  shall  always  look  back  on — " 

But  the  mayor  of  Reuton,  Max  and  Bland 
closed  in  on  the  old  man. 

"Now  look  here,  Doc/'  interrupted  Cargan. 
"You're  bluffing.  Do  you  get  me?  You're  try 
ing  to  put  something  over.  I  don't  want  to  be 


294  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

rough — I  like  you — but  I  got  to  get  a  glimpse  at 
the  inside  of  that  satchel.  And  I  got  to  examine 
your  personal  make-up  a  bit." 
!  "Dear,  dear,"  smiled  Professor  Bolton,  "you 
don't  think  I  would  steal?  A  man  in  my  posi 
tion  ?  Absurd.  Look  through  my  poor  luggage 
if  you  desire.  You  will  find  nothing  but  the 
usual  appurtenances  of  travel." 

He  stood  docilely  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and 
blinked  at  the  group  around  him. 

Mr.  Magee  waited  to  hear  no  more.  It  was 
quite  apparent  that  this  wise  little  man  carried 
no  package  wildly  sought  by  Baldpate's  winter 
guests.  Quietly  and  quickly  Magee  disappeared 
up  the  broad  stair,  and  tried  the  professor's  door. 
It  was  locked.  Inside  he  could  hear  a  window 
banging  back  and  forth  in  the  storm.  He  ran 
through  number  seven  and  out  upon  the  snow- 
covered  balcony. 

There  he  bumped  full  into  a  shadowy  figure 
'hurrying  in  the  opposite  direction. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  MAN  FROM  THE  DARK 

KR  fully  five  seconds  Mr.  Magee  and  the 
an  with  whom  he  had  collided  stood  fac 
ing  each  other  on  the  balcony.  The  identical 
moon  of  the  summer  romances  now  hung  in  the 
sky,  and  in  its  white  glare  Baldpate  Mountain 
glittered  like  a  Christmas-card.  Suddenly  the 
wind  broke  a  small  branch  from  one  of  the  near 
by  trees  and  tossed  it  lightly  on  the  snow  beside 
the  two  men — as  though  it  were  a  signal  for  bat 
tle. 

"A  lucky  chance,"  said  Mr.  Magee.  "You're  a 
man  I've  been  longing  to  meet.  Especially  since 
the  professor  left  his  window  open  this  after 
noon." 

"Indeed,"  replied  the  other  calmly.  "May  I 
ask  what  you  want  of  me?" 

"Certainly."  Mr.  Magee  laughed.  "A  little 
295 


296  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

package.  I  think  it's  in  your  pocket  at  this  min 
ute.  A  package  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand/' 

The  stranger  made  no  reply,  but  looked  quickly 
about,  over  his  shoulder  at  the  path  along  which 
he  had  come,  and  then  past  Mr.  Magee  at  the 
road  that  led  to  freedom. 

"I  think  it's  in  your  pocket,"  repeated  Mr. 
Magee,  "and  I'm  going  to  find  out." 

"I  haven't  time  to  argue  with  you,"  said  the 
holder  of  the  seventh  key.  His  voice  was  cold, 
calculating,  harsh.  "Get  out  of  my  way  and  let 
me  pass.  Or — " 

"Or  what?"  asked  Billy  Magee. 

He  watched  the  man  lunge  toward  him  in  the 
moonlight.  He  saw  the  fist  that  had  the  night 
before  been  the  Waterloo  of  Mr.  Max  and  the 
mayor  start  on  a  swift  true  course  for  his  head. 
Quickly  he  dodged  to  one  side  and  closed  with 
his  opponent. 

Back  and  forth  through  the  snow  they 
ploughed,  panting,  grappling,  straining.  Mr. 
Magee  soon  realized  that  his  adversary  was  no 
weakling.  He  was  forced  to  call  into  play  mus 
cles  he  had  not  used  in  what  seemed  ages — not 


A   MAN    FROM   THE   DARK      297 

since  he  sported  of  an  afternoon  in  a  rather 
odorous  college  gymnasium.  In  moonlight  and 
shadow,  up  and  down,  they  reeled,  staggered, 
stumbled,  the  sole  jarring  notes  in  that  picture  of 
Baldpate  on  a  quiet  winter's  night. 

"You  queered  the  game  last  time,"  muttered 
the  stranger.  "But  you'll  never  queer  it  again/' 

Mr.  Magee  saved  his  breath.  Together  they 
crashed  against  the  side  of  the  inn.  Together 
they  squirmed  away,  across  the  balcony  to  the 
railing.  Still  back  and  forth,  now  in  the  moon 
light,  now  in  shadow,  wildly  they  fought. 
Once  Mr.  Magee  felt  his  feet  slip  from  beneath 
him,  but  caught  himself  in  time.  His  strength 
was  going — surely — quickly.  Then  suddenly  his 
opponent  seemed  to  weaken  in  his  grip.  With  a 
supreme  effort  Magee  forced  him  down  upon  the 
balcony  floor,  and  tumbled  on  top  of  him.  He 
felt  the  chill  of  the  snow  under  his  knees,  and  its 
wetness  in  his  cuffs. 

"Now,"  he  cried  to  himself. 

The  other  still  struggled  desperately.  But  his 
struggle  was  without  success.  For  deftly  Billy 
Magee  drew  from  his  pocket  the  precious  pack- 


\ 


'298     SEVEN   KEYS  TO   BALDPATE 

age  about  which  there  had  been  so  much  debate 
on  Baldpate  Mountain.  He  clasped  it  close,  rose 
and  ran.  In  another  second  he  was  inside  num 
ber  seven,  and  had  lighted  a  candle  at  the  blazing 
logs. 

Once  more  he  examined  that  closely  packed  lit 
tle  bundle;  once  more  he  found  it  rich  in  green 
backs.  Assuredly  it  was  the  greatly  desired 
thing  he  had  fought  for  the  night  before.  He 
had  it  again.  And  this  time,  he  told  himself,  he 
would  not  lose  sight  of  it  until  he  had  placed  it 
in  the  hands  of  the  girl  of  the  station. 

The  dark  shadow  of  the  man  he  had  just 
robbed  was  hovering  at  his  windows.  Magee 
turned  hastily  to  the  door.  As  he  did  so  it  op 
ened,  and  Hayden  entered.  He  carried  a  pistol  in 
his  hand;  his  face  was  hard,  cruel,  determined; 
his  usually  expressionless  eyes  lighted  with  pleas 
ure  as  they  fell  on  the  package  in  Mr.  Magee's 
possession. 

"It  seems  I'm  just  in  time,"  he  said,  "to  pre 
sent  highway  robbery." 

"You  think  so?"  asked  Magee. 

"See  here,   young  man,"   remarked   Hayden, 


'A  MAN   FROM   THE   DARK      299 

glancing  nervously  over  his  shoulder,  "I  can't 
waste  any  time  in  talk.  Does  that  money  belong 
to  you?  No.  Well,  it  does  belong  to  me.  I'm 
going  to  have  it.  Don't  think  I'm  afraid  to  shoot[ 
to  get  it.  The  law  permits  a  man  to  fire  on  the 
thief  who  tries  to  fleece  him." 

"The  law,  did  you  say?"  laughed  Billy  Magee. 
"I  wouldn't  drag  the  law  into  this  if  I  were  you, 
Mr.  Hayden.  I'm  sure  it  has  no  connection  with 
events  on  Baldpate  Mountain.  You  would  be  the 
last  to  want  its  attention  to  be  directed  here.  I've 
got  this  money,  and  I'm  going  to  keep  it." 

Hayden  considered  a  brief  moment,  and  then 
swore  under  his  breath, 

"You're  right,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  going  to 
shoot.  But  there  are  other  ways,  you  whipper- 
snapper — "  He  dropped  the  revolver  into  his 
pocket  and  sprang  forward.  For  the  second  time 
within  ten  minutes  Mr.  Magee  steadied  himself 
for  conflict. 

But  Hayden  stopped.  Some  one  had  entered 
the  room  through  the  window  behind  Magee.  In 
the  dim  light  of  the  single  candle  Magee  saw 
Hayden's  face  go  white,  his  lip  twitch,  his  eyes 


300  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

glaze  with  horrible  surprise.    His  arms  fell  limp 
ly  to  his  sides. 

"Good  God!  Kendrick!"  he  cried. 

The  voice  of  the  man  with  whom  Billy  Magec 
had  but  a  moment  before  struggled  on  the  bal 
cony  answered: 

"Yes,  Hayden.    I'm  back." 

Hayden  wet  his  lips  with  his  tongue. 

"What — what  brought  you?"  he  asked,  his 
voice  trailing  off  weakly  on  the  last  word. 

"What  brought  me?"  Suddenly,  as  from  a 
volcano  that  had  long  been  cold,  fire  blazed  up  in 
Kendrick's  eyes.  "If  a  man  knew  the  road  from 
hell  back  home,  what  would  it  need  to  bring  him 
back?" 

Hayden  stood  with  his  mouth  partly  open ;  al 
most  a  grotesque  picture  of  terror  he  looked  in 
that  dim  light.  Then  he  spoke,  in  an  odd  strained 
tone,  more  to  himself  than  to  any  one  else. 

"I  thought  you  were  dead,"  he  said  "I  told 
myself  you'd  never  come  back.  Over  and  over — 
in  the  night— I  told  myself  that.  But  all  the  time 
— I  knew — I  knew  you'd  come." 

A  cry — a  woman's  cry — sounded  from  just 


A  MAN   FROM   THE   DARK      301 

outside  the  door  of  number  seven.    Into  the  room 
came  Myra  Thorn-hill;  quickly  she  crossed  and 
took  Kendrick's  hands  in  hers. 
;     "David,"   she  sobbed.      "Oh,   David— is   it  a 
dream — a  wonderful  dream?" 

Kendrick  looked  into  her  eyes,  sheepishly  at 
first,  then  gladly  as  he  saw  what  was  in  them. 
For  the  light  there,  under  the  tears,  was  such  as 
no  man  could  mistake.  Magee  saw  it.  Hayden 
saw  it  too,  and  his  voice  was  even  more  lifeless 
when  he  spoke. 

"Forgive    me,    David,"    he    said.    "I    didn't 


mean — " 


And  then,  as  he  saw  that  Kendrick  did  not  lis 
ten,  he  turned  and  walked  quietly  into  the  bed 
room  of  number  seven,  taking  no  notice  of  Car* 
gan  and  Bland,  who,  with  the  other  winter  guests 
of  Baldpate,  now  crowded  the  doorway  leading 
to  the  hall.  Hayden  closed  the  bedroom  door. 
Mr.  Magee  and  the  others  stood  silent,  wonder 
ing.  Their  answer  came  quickly — the  sharp  cry 
of  a  revolver  behind  that  closed  door. 

It  was  Mr.  Magee  who  went  into  the  bedroom. 
The  moonlight  streamed  in  through  the  low  win- 


302  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

dows,  and  fell  brightly  on  the  bed.  Across  this 
Hayden  lay.  Mr.  Magee  made  sure.  It  was  not 
a  pleasant  thing  to  make  sure  of.  Then  he  took 
the  revolver  from  the  hand  that  still  clasped  it, 
covered  the  quiet  figure  on  the  bed,  and  stepped 
back  into  the  outer  room. 

"He — he  has  killed  himself,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice,  closing  the  bedroom  door  behind  him. 

There  was  a  moment's  frightened  hush;  then 
the  voice  of  Kendrick  rang  out : 

"Killed  himself?  I  don't  understand.  Why 
should  he  do  that?  Surely  not  because — no — " 
He  looked  questioningly  into  the  white  face  of 
the  girl  at  his  side;  she  only  shook  her  head. 
"Killed  himself,"  he  repeated,  like  a  man  wak 
ened  from  sleep.  "I  don't  understand." 

On  tiptoe  the  amateur  hermits  of  Baldpate 
descended  to  the  hotel  office.  Mr.  Magee  saw  the 
eyes  of  the  girl  of  the  station  upon  him,  wide 
with  doubt  and  alarm.  While  the  others  gathered 
in  little  groups  and  talked,  he  took  her  to  one 
side. 

"When  does  the  next  train  leave  for  Reuton?" 
he  asked  her. 


A  MAN   FROM   THE  DARK      303 

a  "In  two  hours — at  ten-thirty,"  she  replied. 

"You  .must  be  on  it,"  he  told  her.  "With  you 
will  go  the  two-hundred-thousand-dollar  package. 
I  have  it  in  my  pocket  now." 

She  took  the  news  stolidly,  and  made  no  reply. 

"Are  you  afraid  ?"  asked  Magee  gently.  "You 
mustn't  be.  No  harm  can  touch  you.  I  shall  stay 
here  and  see  that  no  one  follows." 

"I'm  not  afraid,"  she  replied.  "Just  startled, 
that's  all.  Did  he — did  he  do  it  because  you  took 
this  money — because  he  was  afraid  of  what 
would  happen  ?" 

"You  mean  Hayden?"  Magee  said.  "No.  This 
money  was  not  concerned  in — his  death.  That 
is  an  affair  between  Kendrick  and  him." 

"I  see,"  answered  the  girl  slowly.  "I'm  so 
glad  it  wasn't — the  money.  I  couldn't  bear  it  if 
it  were." 

"May  I  call  your  attention,"  remarked  Magee, 
'8to  the  fact  that  the  long  reign  of  'I'm  going  to'  is 
ended,  and  the  rule  of  Tve  done  it'  has  begun? 
I've  actually  got  the  money.  Somehow,  it  doesn't 
seem  to  thrill  you  the  way  I  thought  it  would." 

"But  it  does — oh,  it  does !"  cried  the  girl.    "I 


304  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

was  upset — for  a  moment  It's  glorious  newj. 
And  with  you  on  guard  here,  I'm  not  afraid  to 
carry  it  away — down  the  mountain — and  to  Reti- 
ton.  I'll  be  with  you  in  a  moment,  ready  for  the 
journey." 

She  called  Mrs.  Norton  and  the  two  went 
rather  timidly  up-stairs  together.  Mr.  Magee 
turned  to  his  companions  in  the  room,  and  men 
tally  called  their  roll.  They  were  all  there,  the 
professor,  the  mayor,  Max,  Bland,  Peters,  Miss 
Thornhill,  and  the  newcomer  Kendrick,  a  man 
prematurely  old,  grayed  at  the  temples,  and  with 
a  face  yellowed  by  fever.  He  and  the  professor 
were  talking  earnestly  together,  and  now  the  old 
man  came  and  stood  before  Magee. 

"Mr.  Magee,"  he  said  seriously,  "I  learn  from 
Kendrick  that  you  have  in  your  possession  a  cer 
tain  package  of  money  that  has  been  much  buf 
feted  about  here  at  Baldpate  Inn.  Now  I  suggest 
— no,  I  demand — " 

"Pardon  me,  Professor,"  Mr.  Magee  inter 
rupted.  "I  have  something  to  suggest — even  to 
demand.  It  is  that  you,  and  every  one  else  pres- 


A  MAN  FROM  THE  DARK      305 

ent,  select  a  chair  and  sit  down.  I  suggest, 
though  I  do  not  demand,  that  you  pick  comforta 
ble  chairs.  For  the  vigil  that  you  are  about  to 
begin  will  prove  a  long  one." 

"What  d'you  mean?"  asked  the  mayor  of  Reu- 
ton,  coming  militantly  to  Professor  Bolton's  side. 

Magee  did  not  reply.  Miss  Norton  and  her 
mother  came  down  the  stair,  the  former  wrapped 
in  a  great  coat.  She  stood  on  the  bottom  step, 
her  cheeks  flushed,  her  eyes  ablaze.  Mr.  Magee, 
going  to  her  side,  reflected  that  she  looked 
charming  and  wonderful,  and  wished  he  had  time 
to  admire.  But  he  hadn't.  He  took  from  one 
pocket  the  pistol  he  had  removed  from  the  hand 
of  Hayden;  from  the  other  the  celebrated  pack 
age  of  money. 

"I  warn  you  all,"  he  said,  "I  will  shoot  any  one 
who  makes  a  move  for  this  bundle.  Miss  Norton 
is  going  to  take  it  away  with  her — she  is  to  catch 
the  ten-thirty  train  for  Reuton.  The  train  ar 
rives  at  its  destination  at  twelve.  Much  as  it 
pains  me  to  say  it,  no  one  will  leave  this  room 
before  twelve-fifteen." 


3o6     SEVEN    KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

"You — crook!"  roared  Cargan. 

Mr.  Magee  smiled  as  he  put  the  package  in  the 
girl's  hand. 

"Possibly,"  he  said.  "But,  Mr.  Cargan,  the 
blackness  of  the  kettle  always  has  annoyed  the 
pot.  Do  not  be  afraid,"  he  added  to  the  girl.  "Ev 
ery  gentleman  in  this  room  is  to  spend  the  evening  *' 
with  me.  You  will  not  be  annoyed  in  any  way." 
He  looked  around  the  menacing  circle.  "Go,"  he 
said,  "and  may  the  gods  of  the  mountain  take 
care  of  you." 

The  little  professor  of  Comparative  Literature 
Stepped  forward  and  stood  pompously  before 
Magee. 

"One  moment,"  he  remarked.  "Before  you 
steal  this  money  in  front  of  our  very  eyes,  I  want 
to  inform  you  who  I  am,  and  who  I  represent 
here." 

"This  is  no  time,"  replied  Magee,  "for  light 
talk  on  the  subject  of  blondes." 

"This  is  the  time,"  said  the  professor  warmly, 
"for  me  to  tell  you  that  Mr.  Kendrick  here  and 
myself  represent  at  Baldpate  Inn  the  prosecuting 
attorney  of  Reuton  county.  We — " 


A   MAN   FROM   THE   DARK      307 

Cargan,  big,  red,  volcanic,  interrupted. 

"Dray ton,"  he  bellowed.  "Dray ton  sent  you 
here?  The  rat!  The  pup!  Why,  I  made  that 
kid.  I  put  him  where  he  is.  He  won't  dare 
touch  me." 

"Won't  he?"  returned  Professor  Bolton.  "My 
dear  sir,  you  are  mistaken.  Drayton  fully  in 
tends  to  prosecute  you  on  the  ground  that  you  ar 
ranged  to  pass  Ordinance  Number  45,  granting 
the  Suburban  Railway  the  privilege  of  merging 
with  the  Civic,  in  exchange  for  this  bribe  of  two 
hundred  thousand  dollars.'" 

"He  won't  dare,"  cried  Cargan.  "I  made  him/' 

"Before  election,"  said  the  professor,  "I  be 
lieve  he  often  insisted  to  you  that  he  would  do  his 
duty  as  he  saw  it." 

"Of  course  he  did,"  replied  Cargan.  "But 
that's  what  they  all  say." 

"He  intends  to  keep  his  word." 

The  mayor  of  Reuton  slid  into  the  shadows. 

"To  think  he'd  do  this  thing  to  me,"  he  whined. 
"After  all  I've  done  for  him." 

"As  I  was  saying,  Mr.  Magee,"  continued  the 
professor,  "Mr.  Kendrick  and  I  came  up  here  to 


306  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

secure  this  package  of  money  as  evidence  against 
,Cargan  and — the  man  above.  I  speak  with  the 
voice  of  the  law  when  I  say  you  must  turn  this 
money  over  to  me/' 

For  answer  Magee  smiled  at  the  girl. 

"You'd  better  go  now,"  he  said.  "It's  a  long 
walk  down  the  mountain." 

"You  refuse?"  cried  the  professor. 

"Absolutely — don't  we,  Miss  Norton?"  said 
Magee. 

"Absolutely,"  she  repeated  bravely. 

"Then,  sir,"  announced  the  old  man  crush- 
ingly,  "you  are  little  better  than  a  thief,  and  this 
girl  is  your  accomplice." 

"So  it  must  look,  on  the  face  of  it,"  assented 
Magee.  The  girl  moved  to  the  big  front  door, 
and  Magee,  with  his  eyes  still  on  the  room, 
backed  away  until  he  stood  beside  her.  He  handed 
her  his  key. 

"I  give  you,"  he  said,  "to  the  gods  of  the 

,'mountain.     But  it's  only  a  loan — I  shall  surely 

want  you  back.     I  can't  follow  ten  feet  behind, 

as  I  threatened — it  will  be  ten  hours  instead. 

Good  night,  and  good  luck." 


A   MAN   FROM   THE   D£RK      309 

She  turned  the  key  in  the  lock. 

"Billy  Magee,"  she  whispered,  "yours  is  a  faith 
beyond  understanding.  I  shall  tell  the  gods  of 
the  mountain  that  I  am  to  be — returned.  Good 
night,  you — dear." 

She  went  out  quickly,  and  Magee,  locking  the 
door  after  her,  thrust  the  key  into  his  pocket. 
For  a  moment  no  one  stirred.  Then  Mr.  Max 
leaped  up  and  ran  through  the  flickering  light  to 
the  nearest  window. 

There  was  a  flash,  a  report,  and  Max  came 
back  into  the  firelight  examining  a  torn  trousers 
leg. 

"I  don't  mean  to  kill  anybody,"  explained  Mr. 
Magee.  "Just  to  wing  them.  But  I'm  not  an  ex 
pert — I  might  shoot  higher  than  I  intend.  So  I 
suggest  that  no  one  else  try  a  break  for  it." 

"Mr.  Magee,"  said  Miss  Thornhill,  "I  don't 
believe  you  have  the  slightest  idea  who  that  girl 
is,  nor  what  she  wants  with  the  money." 

"That,"  he  replied,  "makes  it  all  the  more  ex 
citing,  don't  you  think?" 

"Do  you  mean — "  the  professor  exploded, 
"you  don't  know  her?  Well,  you  young  fool." 


310  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"It's  rather  fine  of  you,"  remarked  Miss 
Thornhill. 

"It's  asinine,  if  it's  true,"  the  professor  voiced 
the  other  side  of  it. 

"You  have  said  yourself — or  at  least  you  claim 
to  have  said — "  Mr.  Magee  reminded  him,  "one 
girl  like  that  is  worth  a  million  suffragettes." 

"And  can  make  just  as  much  trouble,"  com 
plained  Professor  Bolton.  "I  shall  certainly  see 
to  it  that  the  hermit's  book  has  an  honored  place 
in  our  college  library." 

Out  of  the  big  chair  into  which  he  had  sunk 
came  the  wail  of  the  uncomprehending  Cargan: 

"He's  done  this  thing  to  me — after  all  I've 
done  for  him." 

"I  hope  every  one  is  quite  comfortable,"  re 
marked  Mr.  Magee,  selecting  a  seat  facing  the 
crowd.  "It's  to  be  a  long  wait,  you  know." 

There  was  no  answer.  The  wind  roared  lustily 
at  the  windows.  The  firelight  flickered  redly  on 
the  faces  of  Mr.  Magee's  prisoners. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  PROFESSOR  SUMS  UP 

IN  Upper  Asquewan  Falls  the  clock  on  the  old 
town  hall  struck  nine.  Mr.  Magee,  on  guard 
in  Baldpate's  dreary  office,  counted  the  strokes. 
She  must  be  half-way  down  the  mountain  now — 
perhaps  at  this  very  moment  she  heard  Quimby's 
ancient  gate  creaking  in  the  wind.  He  could  al 
most  see  her  as  she  tramped  along  through  the 
snow,  the  lovely  heroine  of  the  most  romantic 
walk  of  all  romantic  walks  on  Baldpate  to  date. 
Half-way  to  the  waiting-room  where  she  had 
wept  so  bitterly;  half-way  to  the  curious  station 
agent  with  the  mop  of  ginger  hair.  To-night 
there  would  be  no  need  of  a  troubadour  to  im 
plore  "Weep  no  more,  my  lady".  William  Hal- 
iowell  Magee  had  removed  the  cause  for  tears. 

It  was  a  long  vigil  he  had  begun,  but  there  was 
no  boredom  in  it  for  Billy  Magee.    He  was  top 


3i2  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

great  a  lover  of  contrast  for  that.  As  he  looked 
around  on  the  ill-assorted  group  he  guarded,  he 
compared  them  with  the  happier  people  of  the 
inn's  summer  nights,  about  whom  the  girl  had 
told  him.  Instead  of  these  surly  or  sad  folk  sit 
ting  glumly  under  the  pistol  of  romantic  youth, 
he  saw  maids  garbed  in  the  magic  of  muslin  flit 
through  the  shadows.  Lights  glowed  softly;  a 
waltz  came  up  from  the  casino  on  the  breath  of 
the  summer  breeze.  Under  the  red  and  white 
awnings  youth  and  joy  and  love  had  their  day — 
or  their  night  The  hermit  was  on  hand  with  his 
postal-carded  romance.  The  trees  gossiped  in 
whispers  on  the  mountain. 

And,  too,  the  rocking-chair  fleet  gossiped  in 
whispers  on  the  veranda,  pausing  only  when  the 
admiral  sailed  by  in  his  glory.  Eagerly  it  ran 
down  its  game.  This  girl — this  Myra  Thornhill 
— he  remembered,  had  herself  been  a  victim. 
After  Kendrick  disappeared  she  had  come  there 
no  more,  for  there  were  ugly  rumors  of  the  man 
who  had  fled.  Mr.  Magee  saw  the  girl  and  her 
long-absent  lover  whispering  together  in  the  fire- 
Hght;  he  wondered  if  they,  too,  imagined  them* 


THE  PROFESSOR   SUMS  UP     313 

selves  at  Baldpate  in  the  summer;  if  they  heard 
the  waltz  in  the  casino,  and  the  laughter  of  men 
in  the  grill-room. 

Ten  o'clock,  said  the  town  hall  pompously.  She 
was  at  the  station  now.  In  the  room  of  her  tears 
she  was  waiting ;  perhaps  her  only  companion  the, 
jacky  of  the  "See  the  World"  poster,  whose  garb 
was  but  a  shade  bluer  than  her  eyes.  Who  was 
she?  What  was  the  bribe  money  of  the  Subur 
ban  Railway  to  her?  Mr.  Magee  did  not  know, 
but  he  trusted  her,  and  he  was  glad  she  had  won 
through  him.  He  saw  Professor  Bolton  walk 
through  the  flickering  half-light  to  join  Myra 
Thornhill  and  Kendrick. 

1  It  must  be  half  past  by  now.  Yes — from  far 
below  in  the  valley  came  the  whistle  of  a  train* 
Now — she  was  boarding  it.  She  and  the  money. 
Boarding  it — for  where?  For  what  purpose? 
Again  the  train  whistled. 

"The  siege,"  remarked  Mr.  Magee,  "is  more 
than  half  over,  ladies  and  gentlemen. " 

The  professor  of  Comparative  Literature  ap 
proached  him  and  took  a  chair  at  his  side. 

"I  want  to  talk  with  you,  Mr.  Magee/'  he  said. 


gi4  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"A  welcome  diversion,"  assented  Magee,  his 
eyes  still  on  the  room. 

"I  have  discussed  matters  with  Miss  Thorn- 
hill,"  said  the  professor  in  a  low  voice.  "She  has 
convinced  me  that  in  this  affair  you  have  acted 
from  a  wholly  disinterested  point  of  view.  A 
mistaken  idea  of  chivalry,  perhaps.  The  infat 
uation  of  the  moment  for  a  pretty  face — a  thing 
to  which  all  men  with  red  blood  in  their  veins  are 
susceptible — a  pleasant  thing  that  I  would  be  the 
last  to  want  banished  from  the  world." 

"Miss  Thornhill,"  replied  Billy  Magee,  "has 
sized  up  the  situation  perfectly — except  for  one 
rather  important  detail.  It  is  not  the  infatuation 
of  the  moment,  Professor.  Say  rather  that  of  a 
lifetime." 

"Ah,  yes,"  the  old  man  returned.  "Youth — 
how  sure  it  always  is  of  that.  I  do  not  deprecate 
the  feeling.  Once,  long  ago,  I,  too,  had  youth  and 
faith.  We  will  not  dwell  on  that,  however.  Miss 
Thornhill  assures  me  that  Henry  Bentley,  the  son 
of  my  friend  John  Bentley,  esteems  you  highly. 
She  asserts  that  you  are  in  every  respect,  as  far 
as  her  knowledge  goes,  an  admirable  young  man. 


THE   PROFESSOR   SUMS   UP      315 

I  feel  sure  that  after  calm  contemplation  you  will 
see  that  what  you  have  done  is  very  unfortunate. 
The  package  of  money  which  in  a  giddy  moment 
you  have  given  into  a  young  lady's  keeping  is 
much  desired  by  the  authorities  as  evidence 
against  a  very  corrupt  political  ring.  I  am  cer 
tain  that  when  you  know  all  the  details  you  will 
be  glad  to  return  with  me  to  Reuton  and  do  all  in 
your  power  to  help  us  regain  possession  of  that 
package." 

And  now  the  town  hall  informed  Mr.  Magee 
that  the  hour  was  eleven.  He  pictured  a  train 
flying  like  a  black  shadow  through  the  white 
night.  Was  she  on  it — safe? 

"Professor  Bolton,"  he  said,  "there  couldn't 
possibly  be  any  one  anywhere  more  eager  than 
I  to  learn  all  the  details  of  this  affair — to  hear 
your  real  reason  for  coming  to  Baldpate  Inn,  and 
to  have  the  peroxide-blond  incident  properly 
classified  and  given  its  niche  in  history.  But  let 
me  tell  you  again  my  action  of  to-night  was  no 
mere  madness  of  the  moment.  I  shall  stick  to  it 
through  thick  and  thin.  Now,  about  the  blondes." 

"The  blondes,"  repeated  the  professor  dream- 


316  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

ily.  "Ah,  yes,  I  must  make  a  small  confession  of 
guilt  there.  I  did  not  come  here  to  escape  the  re 
sults  of  that  indiscreet  remark,  but  I  really  made  it 
— about  a  year  ago.  Shall  I  ever  forget  ?  Hardly 
— the  newspapers  and  my  wife  won't  let  me.  I 
can  never  again  win  a  new  honor,  however  digni 
fied,  without  being  referred  to  in  print  as  the  per 
oxide-blond  advocate.  The  thing  has  made  me 
furious.  However,  I  did  not  come  to  Baldpate 
Inn  to  avoid  the  results  of  a  lying  newspaper 
story,  though  many  a  time,  a  year  ago,  when  I 
started  to  leave  my  house  and  saw  the  reporters 
camped  on  my  door-step,  I  longed  for  the  seclu 
sion  of  some  such  spot  as  this.  On  the  night 
when  Mr.  Kendrick  and  I  climbed  Baldpate 
Mountain,  I  remarked  as  much  to  him.  And  so  it 
occurred  to  me  that  if  I  found  any  need  of  ex- 
planing  my  presence  here,  the  blond  incident 
would  do  very  well.  It  was  only — a  white  lie." 
;  "A  blond  one,"  corrected  Mr.  Magee.  "I  for 
give  you,  Professor.  And  I'm  mighty  glad  the 
incident  really  happened,  despite  the  pain  it 
caused  you.  For  it  in  a  way  condones  my  own 
offense — and  it  makes  you  human,  too." 


THE   PROFESSOR   SUMS   UP      317 

"If  to  err  is  human,  it  does/'  agreed  Professor 
Bolton.  "To  begin  with,  I  am  a  member  of  the 
faculty  of  the  University  of  Reuton,  situated,  as 
you  no  doubt  know,  in  the  city  of  the  same  name. 
For  a  long  time  I  have  taken  a  quiet  interest  in 
our  municipal  politics.  I  have  been  up  in  arms 
— linguistic  arms — against  this  odd  character 
Cargan,  who  came  from  the  slums  to  rule  us  with 
a  rod  of  iron.  Every  one  knows  he  is  corrupt, 
that  he  is  wealthy  through  the  sale  of  privilege, 
that  there  is  actually  a  fixed  schedule  of  prices 
for  favors  in  the  way  of  city  ordinances.  I  have 
often  denounced  him  to  my  friends.  Since  I 
have  met  him — well,  it  is  remarkable,  is  it  not, 
the  effect  of  personality  on  one's  opinions?  I 
expected  to  face  a  devil,  with  the  usual  appurte 
nances.  Instead  I  have  found  a  human,  rather 
likable  man.  I  can  well  understand  now  why  it  is 
that  the  mob  follows  him  like  sheep.  However, 
that  is  neither  here  nor  there.  He  is  a  crook,  and 
must  be  punished — even  though  I  do  like  him 
immense}/." 

Mr.  Magee  smiled  over  to  where  the  great  bulk 
of  Cargan  slouched  in  a  chair. 


3i8  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"He's  a  bully  old  scout,"  he  remarked. 

"Even  so,"  replied  the  professor,  "his  high 
-handed  career  of  graft  in  Reuton  must  come  to  a 
speedy  close.  He  is  of  a  type  fast  vanishing 
through  the  awakening  public  conscience.  And 
his  career  will  end,  I  assure  you,  despite  the  fact 
that  you,  Mr.  Magee,  have  seen  fit  to  send  our 
evidence  scurrying  through  the  night  at  the  be 
hest  of  a  chit  of  a  girl.  I  beg  your  pardon — I 
shall  continue.  Young  Drayton,  the  new  county 
prosecutor,  was  several  years  back  a  favorite 
pupil  of  mine.  After  he  left  law  school  he  fell 
under  the  spell  of  the  picturesque  mayor  of  Reu 
ton.  Cargan  liked  him  and  he  rose  rapidly.  Dray- 
ton  had  no  thought  of  ever  turning  against  his 
benefactor  when  he  accepted  the  first  favors,  but 
later  the  open  selling  of  men's  souls  began  to  dis 
gust  him.  When  Cargan  offered  him  the  place  of 
prosecutor,  a  few  months  ago,  Drayton  assured 
him  that  he  would  keep  his  oath  of  office.  The 
mayor  laughed.  Drayton  insisted.  Cargan  had 
not  yet  met  the  man  he  could  not  handle.  He 
gave  Drayton  the  place." 


THE   PROFESSOR   SUMS  UP!     1319 

Tht   old   man   leaned    forward,    and   tapped 
Magee  on  the  knee. 

"It  was  in  me,  remember,"  he  went  on,  "that 
Drayton  confided  his  resolve  to  serve  the  public. 
I  was  delighted  at  the  news.    A  few  weeks  ago 
he- informed  me  his  first  opportunity  was  at  hand. 
Through  one  of  the  men  in  his  office  he  had 
learned  that  Hayden  of  the  Suburban  Electric 
Was  seeking  to  consolidate  that  road,  which  had 
fallen  into  partial  disrepute  under  his  manage 
ment  during  the  illness  of  Thornhill,  the  presi 
dent,  with  the  Civic.     The  consolidation  would 
raise  the  value  of  the  Suburban  nearly  two  mil 
lion  dollars — at  the  public's  expense.     Hayden 
had  seen  Cargan.    Cargan  had  drafted  Ordinance 
Number  45,  and  informed  Hayden  that  his  price 
for  passing  it  through  the  council  would  be  the 
sum  you  have  juggled  in  your  possession  on  Bald- 
"pate  Mountain — two  hundred  thousand  dollars." 
"A  mere  trifle,"  remarked  Magee  sarcastically. 
"So  Cargan  made  Hayden  see.    Through  long 
experience  in  these  matters  the  mayor  has  become 
careless.    He  is  the  thing  above  the  law,  if  not 
the  law  itself.     He  would  have  had  no  fear  in 


320  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

accepting  this  money  on  Main  Street  at  midday. 
He  had  no  fear  when  he  came  here  and  found  he 
was  being  spied  on. 

"But  Hayden — there  was  the  difficulty  that  be 
gan  the  drama  of  Baldpate  Inn.  Hayden  had 
few  scruples,  but  as  events  to-night  have  well 
proved,  Mr.  Magee,  he  was  a  coward  at  heart. 
I  do  not  know  just  why  he  lies  on  your  bed 
tip-stairs  at  this  moment,  a  suicide — that  is 
a  matter  between  Kendrick  and  him,  and  one 
which  Kendrick  himself  has  not  yet  fathomed. 
As  I  say,  Hayden  was  afraid  of  being  caught. 
Andy  Rutter,  manager  of  Baldpate  Inn  for  the 
last  few  summers,  is  in  some  way  mixed  up  in  the 
Suburban.  It  was  he  who  suggested  to  Hayden 
that  an  absolutely  secluded  spot  for  passing  this 
large  sum  of  money  would  be  the  inn.  The 
idea  appealed  to  Hayden.  Cargan  tried  to  laugh 
him  out  of  it.  The  mayor  did  not  relish  the 
thought  of  a  visit  to  Baldpate  Mountain  in  the 
*dead  of  winter,  particularly  as  he  considered  such 
precautions  unnecessary.  But  Hayden  was  firm ; 
this  spot,  he  pointed  out,  was  ideal,  and  the 
mayor  at  last  laughingly  gave  in.  The  sum  in- 


|5 

|p 


THE   PROFESSOR   SUMS   UP     321 

\V3lved  was  well  worth  taking  a  little  trouble  to 
gain." 

iProfessor  Bolton  paused,  and  blinked  his  dim 
old  eyes. 

"So  the  matter  was  arranged,"  he  continued. 
"Mr.  Bland,  a  clerk  in  Hayden's  employ,  was  sent 
up  here  with  the  money,  which  he  placed  in  the 
safe  on  'the  very  night  of  our  arrival.  The  safe 
had  been  left  open  by  Rutter ;  Bland  did  not  have 
the  combination.  He  put  the  package  inside, 
swung  shut  the  door,  and  awaited  the  arrival  o£ 
the  mayor." 

"I  was  present,"  smiled  Magee,  "at  the  cere 
mony  you  mention." 

"Yes?  All  these  plans,  as  I  have  said,  were 
known  to  Drayton.  A  few  nights  ago  he  came  to 
me.  He  wanted  to  send  an  emissary  to  Baldpate 
—a  man  whom  Cargan  had  never  met — one  who 
could  perhaps  keep  up  the  pretense  of  being  here 
for  some  other  reason  than  a  connection  with  the 
bribe.  He  asked  me  to  undertake  the  mission, 
to  see  all  I  could,  and  if  possible  to  secure  the 
package  of  money.  This  last  seemed  hardly/ 


322  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

likely.  At  any  rate,  I  was  to  gather  all  the  evi 
dence  I  could.  I  hesitated.  My  library  fire  never 
looked  so  alluring  as  on  that  night.  Also,  I  was 
engaged  in  some  very  entertaining  researches." 

"I  beg  your  pardon  ?"  said  Billy  Magee. 

"Some  very  entertaining  research  work." 

"Yes,"  reflected  Magee  slowly,  "I  suppose 
such  things  do  exist.  Go  on,  please. " 

"I  had  loudly  proclaimed  my  championship  of 
civic  virtue,  however,  and  here  was  a  chance  to 
serve  Reuton.  I  acquiesced.  The  day  I  was  t® 
start  up  here,  poor  Kendrick  came  back.  He,  too, 
had  been  a  student  of  mine;  a  friend  of  both 
Dray  ton  and  Hay  den.  Seven  years  ago  he  and 
Hayden  were  running  the  Suburban  together, 
under  ThornhiU's  direction.  The  two  young  men 
became  mixed  up  in  a  rather  shady  business  deal, 
which  was  more  of  Hayden's  weaving  than  Ken- 
drick's.  Hayden  came  to  Kendrick  with  the 
story  that  they  were  about  to  be  found  out,  and 
suggested  that  one  assume  the  blame  and  go 
away.  I  am  telling  you  all  this  in  confidence  as 
a  friend  of  my  friends,  the  Bentleys,  and  a  young 
man  whom  I  like  and  trust  despite  your  momen- 


THE   PROFESSOR   SUMS   UP      323 

tary  madness  in  the  matter  of  yellow  locks — we 
are  all  susceptible. 

"Kendrick  went.  For  seven  years  he  stayed 
away,  in  an  impossible  tropic  town,  believing 
himself  sought  by  the  law,  for  so  Hayden  wrote 
him.  Not  long  ago  he  discovered  that  the  mat 
ter  in  which  he  and  Hayden  had  offended  had 
never  been  disclosed  after  all.  He  hurried  back 
to  the  states.  You  can  imagine  his  bitterness. 
He  had  been  engaged  to  Myra  Thornhill,  and  the 
fact  that  Hayden  was  also  in  love  with  her  may 
have  had  something  to  do  with  his  treachery  to 
his  friend." 

Magee's  eyes  strayed  to  where  the  two  victims 
of  the  dead  man's  falsehood  whispered  together 
in  the  shadows,  and  he  wondered  at  the  calmness 
with  which  Kendrick  had  greeted  Hayden  in  the 
room  above. 

"When  Kendrick  arrived/*  Professor  Bolton 
went  on,  "first  of  all  he  consulted  his  old  friend 
Drayton.  Drayton  informed  him  that  he  had 
nothing  to  fear  should  his  misstep  be  made  pub 
lic,  for  in  reality  there  was,  at  this  late  day,  no 
crime  committed  in  the  eyes  of  the  law.  He  also 


324  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

told  Kendrick  how  matters  stood,  and  of  the  net 
he  was  spreading  for  Hayden.  He  had  some 
fears,  he  said,  about  sending  a  man  of  my  years 
alone  to  Baldpate  Inn.  Kendrick  begged  for  the 
chance  to  come,  too.  So,  without  making  his  re 
turn  known  in  Reuton,  three  nights  ago  he  ac 
companied  me  here.  Three  nights — it  seems 
years.  I  had  secured  keys  for  us  both  from  John 
Bentley.  As  we  climbed  the  mountain,  I  noticed 
your  light,  and  we  agreed  it  would  be  best  if  only 
one  of  us  revealed  ourselves  to  the  intruders  in 
the  inn.  So  Kendrick  let  himself  in  by  a  side 
door  while  I  engaged  you  and  Bland  in  the  office. 
He  spent  the  night  on  the  third  floor.  In  the 
morning  I  told  the  whole  affair  to  Quimby, 
knowing  his  interest  in  both  Hayden  and  Ken 
drick,  and  secured  for  Kendrick  the  key  to  the 
annex.  Almost  as  soon  as  I  arrived — " 

"The  curtain  went  up  on  the  melodrama,"  sug 
gested  Mr.  Magee. 

"You  state  it  vividly  and  with  truth,"  Profes 
sor  Bolton  replied.  "Night  befwe  last  the  ordi 
nance  numbered  45  was  due  to  pass  the  council. 
It  was  arranged  that  when  it  did,  Hayden, 


THE   PROFESSOR   SUMS   UP      325 

through  his  man  Rutter,  or  personally,  would 
telephone  the  combination  of  the  safe  to  the 
mayor  of  Reuton.  Cargan  and  Bland  sat  in  the 
office  watching  for  the  flash  of  light  at  the  tele 
phone  switchboard,  while  you  and  I  were  Max's 
prisoners  above.  Something  went  wrong.  Hay- 
den  heard  that  the  courts  would  issue  an  injunc 
tion  making  Ordinance  Number  45  worthless. 
So,  although  the  council  obeyed  Cargan's  in 
structions  and  passed  the  bill,  Hayden  refused  to 
give  the  mayor  the  combination." 

The  old  man  paused  and  shook  his  head  won- 
deringly. 

"Then  melodrama  began  in  dead  earnest,"  he 
continued.  "I  have  always  been  a  man  of  peace, 
and  the  wild  scuffle  that  claimed  me  for  one  of 
its  leading  actors  from  that  moment  will  remain 
in  my  memory  as  long  as  I  live.  Cargan  dyna 
mited  the  safe.  Kendrick  held  him  up ;  you  held 
up  Kendrick.  I  peeked  through  your  window 
and  saw  you  place  the  package  of  money  under 
a  brick  in  youpfireplace — " 

"You — the  curtains  were  down,"  interrupted 
Magee. 


326  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"I  found  a  half-inch  of  open  space,"  explained 
the  old  man.  "Yes,  I  actually  lay  on  my  stomach 
in  the  snow  and  watched  you.  In  the  morning, 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  committed  robbery. 
My  punishment  was  swift  and  sure.  Bland 
swooped  down  upon  me.  Again  this  afternoon, 
I  came  upon  the  precious  package,  after  a  long 
search,  in  the  hands  of  the  Hermit  of  Baldpate- 
I  thought  we  were  safe  at  last  when  I  handed  the 
package  to  Kendrick  in  my  room  to-night — but  I 
had  not  counted  on  the  wild  things  a  youth  like 
you  will  do  for  love  of  a  designing  maid." 

Twelve  o'clock!  The  civic  center  of  Upper 
Asquewan  Falls  proclaimed  it.  Mr.  Magee  had 
never  been  in  Reuton.  He  was  sorry  he  hadn't. 
He  had  to  construct  from  imagination  alone  the 
great  Reuton  station  through  which  the  girl  and 
the  money  must  now  be  hurrying — where  ?  The 
question  would  not  down.  Was  she — as  the  pro 
fessor  believed — designing? 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Magee,  answering  aloud  his 
own  question.  "You  are  wrong,  sir.  I  do  not 
know  just  what  the  motives  of  Miss  Norton 


THE   PROFESSOR   SUMS  UP      327 

were  in  desiring  this  money,  but  I  will  stake  my 
reputation  as  an  honest  hold-up  man  that  they 
were  perfectly  all  right." 

"Perhaps,"  replied  the  other,  quite  uncon 
vinced.  "But — what  honest  motive  could  she 
have?  I  am  able  to  assign  her  no  role  in  this 
little  drama.  I  have  tried.  I  am  able  to  see  no 
connection  between  her  and  the  other  characters. 
What—" 

"Pardon  me,"  broke  in  Magee.  "But  would 
you  mind  telling  me  why  Miss  Thornhill  came  up 
to  Baldpate  to  join  in  the  chase  for  the  package?" 

"Her  motive,"  replied  the  professor,  "does  her 
great  credit.  For  several  years  her  father,  Henry 
Thornhill,  has  been  forced  through  illness  to 
leave  the  management  of  the  railway's  affairs  to 
his  vice-president,  Hayden.  Late  yesterday  the 
old  man  heard  of  this  proposed  bribe — on  his  sick 
bed.  He  was  very  nearly  insane  at  the  thought  of 
the  disgrace  it  would  bring  upon  him.  He  tried  to 
rise  himself  and  prevent  the  passing  of  the  pack 
age.  His  daughter — a  brave  loyal  girl — herself 
undertook  the  task." 


328  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"Then,"  said  Mr.  Magee,  "Miss  Thornhill  is 
not  distressed  at  the  loss  of  the  most  important 
evidence  in  the  case." 

"I  have  explained  the  matter  to  her/'  returned 
Professor  Bolton.  "There  is  no  chance  whatever 
that  her  father's  name  will  be  implicated.  Both 
Dray  ton  and  myself  have  the  highest  regard  for 
his  integrity.  The  whole  affair  was  arranged 
when  he  was  too  ill  to  dream  of  it.  His  good 
name  will  be  smirched  in  no  way.  The  only  man 
involved  on  the  giver's  side  is  dead  in  the  room 
above.  The  man  we  are  after  now  is  Cargan. 
Miss  Thornhill  has  agreed  that  it  is  best  to  prose 
cute.  That  eliminates  her." 

"Did  Miss  Thornhill  and  Kendrick  meet  for 
the  first  time,  after  his  exile,  up-stairs — in  num 
ber  seven  ?"  Mr.  Magee  wanted  to  know. 

"Yes,"  answered  Professor  Bolton.  "In  one 
of  his  letters  long  ago  Hayden  told  Kendrick  he 
was  engaged  to  the  girl.  It  was  the  last  letter 
Kendrick  received  from  him." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"The  important  point  now,"  the  old  man  went 
on,  "is  the  identity  of  this  girl  to  whom  you  have 


THE  PROFESSOR   SUMS  UP     329 

made  your  princely  gift,  out  of  the  goodness  of 
your  young  heart  I  propose  to  speak  to  the 
woman  she  has  introduced  as  her  mother,  and 
elicit  what  information  I  can." 
t  He  crossed  the  floor,  followed  by  Mr.  Magee, 
and  stood  by  the  woman's  chair.  She  looked  up, 
her  eyes  heavy  with  sleep,  her  appearance  more 
tawdry  than  ever  in  that  faint  light. 

"Madam,"  remarked  the  professor,  with  the 
air  of  a  judge  trying  a  case,  "your  daughter  has 
to-night  made  her  escape  from  this  place  with  a 
large  sum  of  money  earnestly  desired  by  the  pros 
ecuting  attorney  of  Reuton  county.  In  the  name 
of  the  law,  I  command  you  to  tell  me  her  desti 
nation,  and  what  she  proposes  to  do  with  that 
package  of  greenbacks." 

The  woman  blinked  stupidly  in  the  dusk. 

"She  ain't  my  daughter/'  she  replied,  and  Mr. 
Magee's  heart  leaped  up.  "I  can  tell  you  that 
much.  I  keep  a  boarding-house  in  Reuton  and 
Miss — the  girl  you  speak  about — has  been  my 
boarder  for  three  years.  She  brought  me  up  here 
as  a  sort  of  chaperon,  though  I  don't  see  as  I'm 
old  enough  for  that  yet.  You  don't  get  nothing 


330  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

else  out  of  me — except  that  she  is  a  perfectly 
lovely  young  woman,  and  your  money  couldn't 
be  safer  with  the  president  of  the  United  States." 

The  puzzled  professor  of  Comparative  Litera 
ture  caressed  his  bald  head  thoughtfully.  "I — er 
— "  he  remarked.  Mr.  Magee  could  have  em 
braced  this  faded  woman  for  her  news.  He 
looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  twelve-twenty. 

"The  siege  is  over,"  he  cried.  "I  shall  not  at 
tempt  to  direct  your  actions  any  longer.  Mr. 
Peters,  will  you  please  go  down  to  the  village  and 
bring  back  Mr.  Quimby  and — the  coroner?" 

'The  coroner !"  The  mayor  of  Reuton  jumped 
to  his  feet.  "I  don't  want  to  be  in  on  any  inquest 
scene.  Come  on,  Max,  let's  get  out  of  here." 

Bland  stood  up,  his  face  was  white  and  wor 
ried,  his  gay  plumage  no  longer  set  the  tone  for 
his  mood. 

"I  think  I'll  go,  too,"  he  announced,  looking 
hopefully  at  Magee. 

"I'm  no  longer  your  jailer,"  Magee  said. 
"Professor,  these  gentlemen  are  your  witnesses. 
Do  you  wish  to  detain  them  ?" 

"See  here,"  cried  the  mayor  angrily,  "there 


THE   PROFESSOR   SUMS   UP      331 

ain't  no  question  but  that  you  can  find  me  in  Reu- 
ton  any  time  you  want  me.  At  the  little  room  on 
Main  Street — anybody  can  tell  you  my  hours — 
the  door's  always  open  to  any  reformer  that  has 
the  nerve  to  climb  the  stairs.  Look  me  up  there. 
I'll  make  it  interesting  for  you." 

"I  certainly  shall,"  the  professor  replied.  "And 
very  soon.  Until  then  you  may  go  when  and 
Where  you  please." 

"Thanks,"  sneered  the  mayor.  "I'll  expect 
you.  I'll  be  ready.  I've  had  to  get  ready  to 
answer  your  kind  before.  You  think  you  got  me, 
eh?  Well,  you're  a  fool  to  think  that.  As  for 
Drayton,  the  pup,  the  yellow-streaked  pup — I'll 
talk  to  Mister  Drayton  when  I  get  back  to  Reu- 
ton." 

"Before  you  go,  Bland,"  remarked  Magee, 
.smiling,  "I  want  to  ask  about  Arabella.  Where 
did  you  get  her?" 

"Some  of  it  happened  to  a  friend  of  mine," 
the  ex-haberdasher  answered,  "a  friend  that  keeps 
a  clothing  store.  I  got  this  suit  there.  I  changed 
the  story,  here  and  there.  He  didn't  write  her 
no  note,  though  he  thought  seriously  of  it.  And 


332  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

he  didn't  run  away  and  hide.  The  last  I  seen  of 
him  he  was  testing  the  effect  of  the  heart-balm  on 
sale  behind  the  swinging  doors." 

Mr.  Magee  laughed,  but  over  the  long  lean  face 
of  Bland  not  the  ghost  of  a  smile  flitted.  He 
was  frightened,  through  and  through. 

"You're  a  fine  bunch,"  sneered  Mr.  Max.  "Re 
formers,  eh?  Well,  you'll  get  what  the  rest  of 
'em  always  got.  We'll  tie  you  up  in  knots  and 
leave  you  on  the  door-step  of  some  orphan  asylum 
before  we're  through  with  you." 

"Come  on,  Lou,"  said  Cargan.  "Drayton's  a 
smart  guy,  Doc.  Where's  his  proof?  Eloped 
with  the  bundle  of  dry  goods  this  young  man's 
taken  a  fancy  to.  And  even  if  he  had  the  money 
— I've  been  up  against  this  many  a  time.  You're 
wasting  your  talents,  Doc.  Good  night!  Come 
on,  boys." 

The  three  stamped  out  through  the  dining- 
room,  and  from  the  window  Mr.  Magee  watched 
them  disappear  down  the  road  that  stretched  to 
Asquewan  Falls. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A   RED    CARD 

MR.  MAGEE  turned  back  from  the  win 
dow  to  the  dim  interior  of  the  hotel 
office.  He  who  had  come  to  Baldpate  Inn  to  court 
loneliness  had  never  felt  so  lonely  in  his  life. 
For  he  had  lost  sight  of  her — in  the  great  Reuton 
station  of  his  imagination  she  had  slipped  from 
his  dreams — to  go  where  he  could  not  follow, 
even  in  thought.  He  felt  as  he  knew  this  great 
bare  room  must  feel  each  fall  when  the  last  laugh 
died  away  down  the  mountain,  and  the  gloom 
of  winter  descended  from  drab  skies. 

Selecting  a  log  of  the  hermit's  cutting  from 
the  stock  beside  the  hearth,  Mr.  Magee  tossed  it 
on  the  fire.  There  followed  a  shower  of  sparks > 
and  a  flood  of  red  light  in  the  room.  Through 
this  light  Kendrick  advanced  to  Magee's  side,  and 
the  first  of  the  Baldpate  hermits  saw  that  the 
333 


334  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

man's  face  was  lined  by  care,  that  his  eyes  were 
tired  even  under  the  new  light  in  them,  that  his 
mouth  was  twisted  bitterly. 

"Poor  devil,"  thought  Magee. 

Kendrick  drew  up  chairs  for  himself  and  Ma- 
gee,  and  they  sat  down.  Behind  them  the  bulky 
Mrs.  Norton  dozed,  dreaming  perhaps  of  her 
Reuton  boarding-house,  while  Miss  Thornhill 
and  the  professor  talked  intermittently  in  low 
tones.  The  ranks  at  Baldpate  were  thinning 
rapidly;  before  long  the  place  must  settle  back 
with  a  sigh  in  the  cold,  to  wait  for  its  first  sum 
mer  girl. 

"Mr.  Magee,"  said  Kendrick  nervously,  "you 
have  become  involved  in  an  unkind,  a  tragic 
story.  I  do  not  mean  the  affair  of  the  bribe—- 
I  refer  to  the  matter  between  Hayden  and  my 
self.  Before  Peters  comes  back  with — the  men 
he  went  for — I  should  like  to  tell  you  some  of 
the  facts  of  that  story." 

"If  you  had  rather  not — "  began  Magee. 

"No,"  replied  Kendrick,  "I  prefer  that  you 
should  know.  It  was  you  who  took  the  pistol 
from — his  hand.  I  do  not  believe  that  even  I 


A  RED  CARD  335 

can  tell  you  all  that  was  in  Hayden's  mind  when 
he  went  into  that  other  room  and  closed  the  door. 
It  seems  to  me  preposterous  that  a  man  of  his 
sort  should  take  his  life  under  the  circumstances. 
I  feel,  somehow,  that  there  is  a  part  of  the  story 
even  I  do  not  know.  But  let  that  be." 
He  bowed  his  head  in  his  hands. 
"Ever  since  I  came  into  this  room,"  he  went 
on,  "the  eyes  of  a  pompous  little  man  have  been 
following  me  about.  They  have  constantly  re 
called  to  me  the  nightmare  of  my  life.  You  have 
noticed,  no  doubt,  the  pictures  of  the  admiral 
that  decorate  these  walls?" 

"I  have,"  replied  Magee.  He  gazed  curiously 
at  the  nearest  of  the  portraits.  How  persistently 
this  almost  mythical  starched  man  wove  in  and 
out  of  the  melodrama  at  Baldpate  Inn. 

"Well,"  continued  Kendrick,  "the  admiral's 
eyes  haunt  me.  Perhaps  you  know  that  he  plays 
a  game — a  game  of  solitaire.  I  have  good  rea 
son  to  remember  that  game.  It  is  a  silly  in 
consequential  game.  You  would  scarcely  believe 
that  it  once  sent  a  man  to  hell." 
He  stopped. 


336  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"I  am  beginning  in  the  middle  of  my  story," 
he  apologized.  "Let  me  go  back.  Six  years  ago 
I  was  hardly  the  man  you  see  now — I  was  at 
least  twenty  years  younger.  Hayden  and  I 
worked  together  in  the  office  of  the  Suburban 
Railway.  We  had  been  close  friends  at  college — 
I  believed  in  him  and  trusted  him,  although  I 
knew  he  had  certain  weaknesses.  I  was  a  happy 
man.  I  had  risen  rapidly,  I  was  young, .  the 
future  was  lying  golden  before  me — and  I  was 
engaged.  The  daughter  of  Henry  Thornhill, 
our  employer — the  girl  you  have  met  here  at 
Baldpate — had  promised  to  be  my  wife.  Hayden 
had  also  been  a  suitor,  but  when  our  engagement 
was  announced  he  came  to  me  like  a  man,  and  I 
thought  his  words  were  sincere. 

"One  day  Hayden  told  me  of  a  chance  we 
might  take  which  would  make  us  rich.  It  was 
not — altogether  within  the  law.  But  it  was  the 
sort  of  thing  that  other  men  were  doing  con 
stantly,  and  Hayden  assured  me  that  as  he  had 
arranged  matters  it  was  absolutely  safe.  My 
great  sin  is  that  I  agreed  we  should  take  the 


A   RED   CARD  337 

chance — a  sin  for  which  I  have  paid,  Mr.  Magee, 
over  and  over." 

Again  he  paused,  and  gazed  steadily  at  the  fire. 
Again  Magee  noted  the  gray  at  his  temples,  the 
aftermath  of  fevers  in  his  cheeks. 

"We — took  the  chance,"  he  went  on.  "For  a 
time  everything  went  well.  Then — one  bluster 
ing  March  night — Hayden  came  to  me  and  told 
me  we  were  certain  to  be  caught  Some  of  his 
plans  had  gone  awry.  I  trusted  him  fully  at  the 
time,  you  understand — he  was  the  man  with 
whom  I  had  sat  on  the  window-seat  of  my  room 
at  college,  settling  the  question  of  immortality, 
and  all  the  other  great  questions  young  men  settle 
at  such  times.  I  have  at  this  moment  no  doubt 
that4ie  was  quite  truthful  when  he  said  we  were 
in  danger  of  arrest.  We  arranged  to  meet  the 
next  night  at  the  Argots  Club  and  decide  on  what 
we  should  do. 

"We  met — in  the  library  of  the  club.  Hayden 
came  in  to  me  from  the  card-room  adjoining, 
where  he  had  been  watching  the  admiral  dodder 
ing  over  his  eternal  game.  The  old  man  had  be- 


338  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

come  a  fixture  at  the  club,  like  Parker  down  at 
the  door,  or  the  great  chandelier  in  the  hall.  No 
one  paid  any  attention  to  him;  when  he  tried  to 
talk  to  the  younger  men  about  his  game  they  fled 
as  from  a  pestilence.  Well,  as  I  say,  Hayden 
came  to  meet  me,  and  just  at  that  moment  the  ad 
miral  finished  his  game  and  went  out.  We  were 
alone  in  the  library. 

"Hayden  told  me  he  had  thought  the  matter 
over  carefully.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to 
clear  out  of  Reuton  forever.  But  why,  he  argued, 
should  we  both  go?  Why  wreck  two  lives?  It 
would  be  far  better,  he  told  me,  for  one  to  as 
sume  the  guilt  of  both  and  go  away.  I  can  see 
him  now — how  funny  and  white  his  face  looked 
in  that  half-lighted  room — how  his  hands  trem 
bled.  I  was  far  the  calmer  of  the  two. 

"I  agreed  to  his  plan.  Hayden  led  the  way  into 
the  room  where  the  admiral  had  been  playing. 
We  went  up  to  the  table,  over  which  the  green- 
shaded  light  still  burned.  On  it  lay  two  decks  of 
cards,  face  up.  Hayden  picked  up  the  nearest 
deck,  and  shuffled  it  nervously.  His  face — God, 
it  was  like  the  snow  out  there  on  the  mountain." 


A   RED   CARD  3S9 

Kendrick  closed  his  eyes,  and  Magee  gazed  at 
him  in  silent  pity. 

"He  held  out  the  deck,"  went  on  the  exile 
softly,  "he  told  me  to  draw.  He  said  if  the  card 
was  black,  he'd  clear  out.  'But  if  it's  red,  David/ 
he  said,  'why — you — got  to  go/  I  held  my 
breath,  and  drew.  It  was  a  full  minute  before  I 
dared  look  at  the  card  in  my  hand.  Then  I 
turned  it  pver  and  it  was — red — a  measly  little 
red  two-spot.  I  don't  suppose  a  man  ever  real 
izes  all  at  once  what  such  a  moment  means.  I 
remember  that  I  was  much  cooler  than  Hayden. 
It  was  I  who  had  to  brace  him  up.  I — I  even 
tried  to  joke  with  him.  But  his  face  was  like 
death.  He  hardly  spoke  at  all  at  first,  and  then 
suddenly  he  became  horribly  talkative.  I  left 
him — talking  wildly — I  left  Reuton.  I  left  the 
girl  to  whom  I  was  engaged/' 

To  break  the  silence  that  followed,  Mr.  Magee 
Jeaned  forward  and  stirred  the  logs. 

"I  don't  want  to  bore  you,"  Kendrick  said, 
trying  to  smile.  "I  went  to  a  little  town  in  South 
America.  There  was  no  treaty  of  extradition 
there — nor  anything  else  civilized  and  decent.  I 


340     SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

smoked  cigarettes  and  drank  what  passed  for 
rum,  on  the  balcony  of  an  impossible  hotel,  and 
otherwise  groped  about  for  the  path  that  leads  to 
the  devil.  After  a  year,  I  wrote  to  Hayden.  He 
answered,  urging  me  to  stay  away.  He  inti 
mated  that  the  thing  we  had  done  was  on  my 
shoulders.  I  was  ashamed,  frightfully  unhappy. 
I  didn't  dare  write  to — her.  I  had  disgraced  her. 
I  asked  Hayden  about  her,  and  he  wrote  back 
that  she  was  shortly  to  marry  him.  After  that  I 
didn't  want  to  come  back  to  Reuton.  I  wanted 
most — to  die. 

"The  years  crept  by  on  the  balcony  pf  that 
impossible  hotel.  Six  of  them.  The  first  in  bit 
ter  memories,  memories  of  a  red  card  that  danced 
fiendishly  before  my  eyes  when  I  closed  them — 
the  last  in  a  fierce  biting  desire  to  come  back  to 
the  world  I  had  left.  At  last,  a  few  months  ago, 
I  wrote  to  another  college  friend  of  mine,  Dray- 
ton,  and  told  him  the  whole  story.  I  did  not 
know  that  he  had  been  elected  prosecutor  in  Reu 
ton.  He  answered  with  a  kind  pitying  letter — 
and  finally  I  knew  the  horrible  truth.  Nothing 
had  ever  happened.  The  thing  we  had  done  had 


A   RED   CARD  341 

never  been  discovered.  Hayden  had  lied.  He 
had  even  lied  about  his  engagement  to  Myra 
Thornhill.  There,  he  had  made  a  reality  out  01 
what  was  simply  his  great  desire. 

"You  can  imagine  my  feelings.  Six  years  in 
a  tomb,  a  comic  opera  sort  of  tomb,  where  a 
silly  surf  was  forever  pounding,  and  foolish  palms 
kept  waving.  Six  years — for  nothing.  Six 
years,  while  Hayden,  guiltier  than  I,  stayed  be 
hind  to  enjoy  the  good  things  of  life,  to  plead  for 
the  girl  whose  lover  he  had  banished. 

"I  lost  no  time  in  coming  north.  Three  days 
ago  I  entered  Drayton's  office.  I  was  ready  and 
willing  that  the  wrong  Hayden  and  I  had  done 
should  be  made  public.  Dray  ton  informed  me 
that  legally  there  had  been  no  crime,  that  Hayden 
had  straightened  things  out  in  time,  that  we  had 
defrauded  no  one.  And  he  told  me  that  for  what 
ever  sin  I  had  committed  he  thought  I  had  more 
than  atoned  down  there  in  that  town  that  God 
forgot.  I  think  I  had.  He  explained  to  me  about 
the  trap  he  had  laid  for  Hayden  up  here  at  Bald- 
pate  Inn.  I  begged  to  help.  What  happened 
after,  you  know  as  well  as  I." 


342  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do,"  agreed  Mr.  Magee  softly. 

"I  have  told  you  the  whole  story,"  Kendrick 
replied,  "and  yet  it  seems  to  me  that  still  it  is 
not  all  told.  Why  should  Hayden  have  killed 
himself?  He  had  lied  to  me,  it  is  true,  but  life 
was  always  sweet  to  him,  and  it  hardly  seems  to 
me  that  he  was  the  sort  to  die  simply  because  his 
falsehood  was  discovered.  Was  there  some  other 
act  of  cruelty — some  side  to  the  story  of  which 
we  are  none  of  us  aware  ?  I  wonder." 

He  was  silent  a  moment. 

"Anyhow,  I  have  told  you  all  I  know,"  he  said. 
"Shall  I  tell  it  also  to  the  coroner  ?  Or  shall  we 
allow  Hayden's  suicide  to  pass  as  the  result  of  his 
implication  in  this  attempt  at  bribery?  I  ask 
your  advice,  Mr.  Magee." 

"My  advice,"  returned  Magee,  "is  that  you  be 
fuddle  no  pompous  little  village  doctor  with  the 
complication  of  this  unhappy  tale.  No,  let  the 
story  be  that  Hayden  killed  himself  as  the  toils 
closed  in  on  him — the  toils  of  the  law  that  pun 
ishes  the  bribe  giver — now  and  then  and  oc 
casionally.  Mr.  Kendrick,  you  have  my  deepest 
sympathy.  Is  it  too  much  for  me  to  hope" — he 


A   RED   CARD  343 

glanced  across  the  room  to  where  Myra  Thorn- 
hill  sat  -beside  the  professor — "that  the  best  of 
your  life  is  yet  to  come — that  out  of  the  wreck 
this  man  made  of  it  you  may  yet  be  happy  ?" 

Kendrick  smiled. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  he  said.  "Twice  we  have 
met  and  battled  in  the  snow,  and  I  do  not  hold  it 
against  you  that  both  times  you  were  the  victor. 
Life  in  a  tropic  town,  Mr.  Magee,  is  not  exactly 
a  muscle-building  experience.  Once  I  might  have 
given  the  whole  proceeding  a  different  turn.  Yes, 
Miss  Thornhill  has  waited  for  me — all  these  years 
— waited,  believing.  It  is  a  loyalty  of  which  I 
can  not  speak  without — you  understand.  She 
knows  why  I  went  away — why  I  stayed  away. 
She  is  still  ready  to  marry  me.  I  shall  go  again 
into  the  Suburban  office  and  try  to  lift  the  road 
from  the  muck  into  which  it  has  fallen.  Yes, 
it  is  not  too  much  for  me  to  hope — and  for 
you  in  your  kindness — that  a  great  happiness  is 
still  for  me." 

"Believe  me,  I'm  glad,"  replied  Magee  with 
youthful  enthusiasm,  holding  out  his  hand.  "I'm 
sorry  I  spoiled  your  little  game  up  here,  but — " 


344  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"I  understand/'  smiled  Kendrick.  "I  think 
none  the  less  of  you  for  what  you  have  done. 
And  who  knows  ?  It  may  turn  out  to  have  been 
the  wisest  course  after  all." 

Ah,  would  it  ?  Mr.  Magee  walked  to  the  win 
dow,  pondering  on  the  odd  tangle  of  events  that 
had  not  yet  been  completely  straightened  put. 
Certainly  her  eyes  were  an  honest  blue  as  well 
as  a  beautiful — but  who  was  she?  Where  was 
she?  The  great  figure  of  Mrs.  Norton  stirred 
restlessly  near  at  hand;  the  puffed  lids  of  her 
eyes  opened. 

"Mr.  Magee,"  she  said,  when  she  had  made 
out  his  figure  by  the  window,  "you've  been  a  true 
'friend,  as  I  might  say,  to  a  couple  of  mad  fe 
males  who  ought  to  have  been  at  home  by  their 
own  firesides,  and  I'm  going  to  ask  one  more 
favor  of  you.  Find  out  when  the  next  train  goes 
to  Reuton,  and  see  that  I'm  at  the  station  an 
hour  or  two  before  it  pulls  out." 

"I'll  do  that,  Mrs.  Norton,"  smikd  Magee. 
"By  the  way,  is  Norton  the  name?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  woman,  "that's  my  name. 
Of  course,  it  ain't  hers.  I  can't  tell  that." 


A   RED   CARD  345 

"No  matter,"  said  Mr.  Magee,  "shell  probably 
change  it  soon.  Can't  you  tell  me  something 
about  her — just  a  tiny  bit  of  information.  Just 
a  picture  of  where  she  is  now,  and  what  she's 
doing  with  that  small  fortune  I  gave  her." 

"Where  is  she  now?"  repeated  Mrs.  Norton. 
"She's  home  and  in  bed  in  my  second  floor  front, 
unless  she's  gone  clear  crazy.  And  that's  where 
I  wish  I  was  this  minute — in  bed — though  it's  a 
question  in  my  mind  if  I'll  ever  be  able  to  sleep 
again,  what  with  the  uproar  and  confusion  my 
house  is  probably  in  by  this  time,  leaving  it  in 
charge  of  a  scatter-brained  girl.  Norton  always 
used  to  say  if  you  want  a  thing  done  right,  do  it 
yourself,  and  though  he  didn't  always  live  up  to 
the  sentiment,  letting  me  do  most  things  he 
wanted  done  right,  there  was  a  lot  of  truth  in  his 
words.  I  certainly  must  get  back  to  Reuton,  just 
as  quick  as  the  railroad  will  take  me." 

"Why  did  you  come?"  prodded  Mr.  Magee. 
"Why  did  you  leave  your  house  on  this  strange 
mission  ?" 

"The  Lord  knows,"  replied  the  woman.  "I 
certainly  never  intended  to,  but  she  begged  and 


346  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

pleaded,  and  the  first  thing  I  knew,  I  was  on  a 
train.  She  has  winning  ways,  that  girl — maybe 
you've  noticed  ?" 

"I  have/'  assented  Billy  Magee. 

"I  thought  so.  No,  Mr.  Magee,  I  can't  tell  you 
nothing  about  her.  I  ain't  allowed  to — even  you 
that  has  been  so  kind.  She  made  me  promise. 
'He'll  know  soon  enough,'  she  kept  saying.  But 
I  will  tell  you,  as  I  told  you  before,  there's  no 
occasion  to  worry  about  her — unless  you  was  to 
think  was  she  held  up  and  murdered  with  all 
that  money  on  her,  the  brave  little  dear.  If 
you  was  considering  offering  yourself  for  the  job 
of  changing  her  name,  Mr.  Magee,  I  say  go  in 
and  do  it.  It  sure  is  time  she  settled  down  and 
gave  up  this — this — gave  it  all  up  before  some 
thing  awful  happens  to  her.  You  won't  forget 
— the  very  next  train,  Mr.  Magee  ?" 

"The  very  next,"  Magee  agreed. 

In  through  the  dining-room  door  stamped 
Quimby,  grave  of  face,  dazed  at  being  roused1 
from  sleep,  and  with  him  an  important  little  man 
whose  duty  it  was  to  investigate  at  Upper  Asq-ue- 
wan  Falls  such  things  as  had  happened  that  night 


A  RED   CARD  347 

at  Baldpate.  Even  from  his  slumber  he  rose  with 
the  air  of  a  judge  and  the  manner  of  a  Sherlock 
Holmes.  For  an  hour  he  asked  questions,  and 
in  the  end  he  prepared  to  go  in  a  seemingly  satis 
fied  state  of  mind. 

Quimby's  face  was  very  awed  when  he  came 
down-stairs  after  a  visit  to  the  room  above. 

"Poor  fellow!"  he  said  to  Magee.  "I'm  sorry 
— he  was  so  young."  For  such  as  Quimby  carry 
no  feud  beyond  the  gates.  He  went  over  and 
took  Kendrick's  hand. 

"I  never  had  a  chance,"  he  said,  "to  thank  you 
for  all  you  tried  to  do  for  me  and  my  invention." 

"And  it  came  to  nothing  in  the  end?"  Ken- 
drick  asked. 

"Nothing,"  Quimby  answered.  "I — I  had  to 
creep  back  to  Baldpate  Mountain  finally — broke 
and  discouraged.  I  have  been  here  ever  since. 
All  my  blue  prints,  all  my  models — they're  locked 
away  forever  in  a  chest  up  in  the  attic." 

"Not  forever,  Quimby,"  Kendrick  replied.  "I 
always  did  believe  in  your  invention — I  believe  in 
it  still.  When  I  get  back  into  the  harness — Fir 
sure  I  can  do  something  for  you." 


348  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

Quimby  shook  his  head.  He  looked  to  be  hall 
asleep. 

"It  don't  seem  possible,"  he  said.  "No— it's 
all  been  buried  so  long — all  the  hope — all  the 
plans — it  don't  seem  possible  it  could  ever  come 
to  life  again." 

"But  it  can,  and  it  will,"  cried  Kendrick.  "I'm 
going  to  lay  a  stretch  of  track  in  Reuton  with 
your  joints.  That's  all  you  need — they'll  have  to 
use  'em  then.  We'll  force  the  Civic  into  it.  We 
can  do  it,  Quimby — we  surely  can." 

Quimby  rubbed  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

"Ypu'll  lay  a  stretch  of  track — "  he  repeated. 
"That's  great  news  to  me,  Mr.  Kendrick.  I — I 
can't  thank  you  now."  His  voice  was  husky. 
"I'll  come  back  and  take  care  of — him,"  he  said, 
jerking  his  head  toward  the  room  up-stairs.  "I 
got  to  go  now — this  minute — I  got  to  go  and  tell 
my  wife.  I  got  to  tell  her  what  you've  said.* 


CHAPTER  XIX 

EXEUNT  OMNES,  AS  SHAKESPEARE  HAS  IT 

AT  FOUR  in  the  morning  Baldpate  Inn, 
wrapped  in  the  arms  pf  winter,  had  all 
the  rare  gaiety  and  charm  of  a  baseball  bleechers 
on  Christmas  Eve.  Looking  gloomily  out  the 
window,  Mr.  Magee  heard  behind  him  the  steps 
on  the  stairs  and  the  low  cautions  of  Quimby, 
and  two  men  he  had  brought  from  the  village, 
who  were  carrying  something  down  to  the  dark 
carriage  that  waited  outside.  He  did  not  look 
round.  It  was  a  picture  he  wished  to  avoid. 

So  this  was  the  end — the  end  of  his  two  and 
a  half  days  of  solitude — the  end  of  his  light- 
hearted  exile  on  Baldpate  Mountain.  He  thought 
of  Bland,  lean  and  white  of  face,  gay  of  garb, 
fleeing  through  the  night,  his  Arabella  fiction 
disowned  in  the  real  tragedy  that  had  followed. 
He  thought  of  Cargan  and  Max,  also  fleeing, 
349 


350     SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

wrathful,  sneering,  by  Eland's  side.  He  thought 
of  Hay  den,  jolting  down  the  mountain  in  that 
black  wagon.  So  it  ended. 

So  it  ended — most  preposterous  end — with 
William  Hallowell  Magee  madly,  desperately,  in 
love.  By  the  gods — in  love!  In  love  with  a  fair 
gay-hearted  girl  for  whom  he  had  fought,  and 
stolen,  and  snapped  his  fingers  at  the  law  as  it 
blinked  at  him  in  the  person  of  Professor  Bolton. 
Billy  Magee,  the  calm,  the  unsusceptible,  who 
wrote  of  a  popular  cupid  but  had  always  steered 
clear  of  his  shots.  In  love  with  a  girl  whose  name 
he  did  not  know;  whose  motives  were  mostly  in 
the  fog.  And  he  had  come  up  here — to  be  alone. 

For  the  first  time  in  many  hours  he  thought  of 
New  York,  of  the  fellows  at  the  club,  of  what 
they  would  say  when  the  jocund  news  came  that 
Billy  Magee  had  gone  mad  on  a  mountainside. 
,He  thought  of  Helen  Faulkner,  haughty,  unper 
turbed,  bred  to  hold  herself  above  the  swift  catas- 
^rophies  of  the  world.  He  could  see  the  arch  of 
her  patrician  eyebrows,  the  shrug  of  her  exquisite 
shoulders,  when  young  Williams  hastened  up  the 
avenue  and  poured  into  her  ear  the  merry  story. 


AS   SHAKESPEARE   HAS   IT      351 

Well — so  be  it  He  had  never  cared  for  her.  In 
her  superiority  he  had  found  a  challenge,  in  her 
icy  indifference  a  trap,  that  lured  him  on  to  try 
his  hand  at  winning  her.  But  he  had  never  for  a 
moment  caught  a  glimmering  of  what  it  was 
really  to  care — to  care  as  he  cared  now  for  the 
girl  who  had  gone  from  him — somewhere — down 
the  mountain. 

Quimby  dragged  into  the  room,  the  strain  of  a 
rather  wild  night  in  Upper  Asquewan  Falls  in  his 
eyes. 

"Jake  Peters  asked  me  to  tell  you  he  ain't  com 
ing  back,"  he  said.  "Mis'  Quimby  is  getting 
breakfast  for  you  down  at  our  house.  You  better 
pack  up  now  and  start  down,  I  reckon.  Your 
train  goes  at  half  past  six." 

Mrs.  Norton  jumped  up,  proclaiming  that  she 
must  be  aboard  that  train  at  any  cost.  Miss 
Thornhill,  the  professor  and  Kendrick  ascended 
the  stairs,  and  in  a  moment  Magee  followed. 

He  stepped  softly  into  number  seven,  for  the 
tragedy  of  the  rooms  was  still  in  the  air.  Vague 
shapes  seemed  to  flit  about  him  as  he  lighted  a 
candle.  They  whispered  in  his  ear  that  this  was 


352  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

to  have  been  the  scene  of  achievement ;  that  here 
he  was  to  have  written  the  book  that  should  make 
his  place  secure.  Ah,  well,  fate  had  decreed  it 
.otherwise.  It  had  set  plump  in  his  path  the 
melodrama  he  had  come  up  to  Baldpate  to  avoid. 
Ironic  fate,  she  must  be  laughing  now  in  the 
sleeve  of  her  kimono.  Feeling  about  in  the 
shadows  Magee  gathered  his  things  together,  put 
them  in  his  bags,  and  with  a  last  look  at  number 
seven,  closed  the  door  forever  on  its  many  excite 
ments. 

A  shivering  group  awaited  him  at  the  foot  of 
the  stair.  Mrs.  Norton's  hat  was  on  at  an  angle 
even  the  most  imaginative  milliner  could  not  have 
approved.  The  professor  looked  older  than  ever; 
even  Miss  Thornhill  seemed  a  little  less  statu 
esque  and  handsome  in  the  dusk.  Quimby  led  the 
way  to  the  door,  they  passed  through  it,  and  Mr. 
Magee  locked  it  after  them  with  the  key  Hal 
Bentley  had  blithely  given  him  on  Forty-fourth 
Street,  New  York. 

So  Baldpate  Inn  dropped  back  into  the  silence 
to  slumber  and  to  wait.  To  wait  for  the  magiu 
of  muslin,  the  lilt  of  waltzes,  the  tinkle  of  laugh- 


AS    SHAKESPEARE   HAS   IT      353 

ter,  the  rhythm  of  the  rockers  of  the  fleet  on  its 
verandas,  the  formal  tread  of  the  admiral's  boots 
across  its  polished  floors,  the  clink  of  dimes  in  the 
pockets  of  its  bell-boys.  For  a  few  brief  hours 
strange  figures  had  replaced  the  unromantic 
Quimby  in  its  rooms,  they  had  come  to  talk  of 
money  and  of  love,  to  plot  and  scheme,  and  as 
they  came  in  the  dark  and  moved  most  swiftly  in 
the  dark,  so  in  the  dark  they  went  away,  and 
Baldpate's  startling  winter  drama  took  reluctantly 
its  final  curtain. 

Down  the  snowy  road  the  five  followed  Quim- 
by's  lead ;  Mr.  Magee  picturing  in  fancy  one  who 
had  fled  along  this  path  but  a  short  time  before ; 
the  others  busy  with  many  thoughts,  not  the 
least  of  which  was  of  Mrs.  Quimby's  breakfast. 
At  the  door  of  the  kitchen  she  met  them,  ma 
ternal,  concerned,  eager  to  pamper  and  to  serve, 
just  as  Mr.  Magee  remembered  her  on  that  night 
that  now  seemed  so  long  ago.  He  smiled  down 
into  her  eyes,  and  he  had  an  engaging  smile, 
even  at  four-thirty  in  the  morning. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Quimby,"  he  cried,  "here  is  the 
prodigal  straight  from  that  old  husk  of  an  inn. 


354  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

And  believe  me,  he's  pretty  anxious  to  sit  down 
to  some  food  that  woman,  starter  of  all  the 
trouble  since  the  world  began,  had  a  hand  in." 

"Come  right  in,  all  of  you,"  chirruped  Mrs. 
Quimby,  ushering  them  into  a  pleasant  odor  of 
cookery.  "Take  off  your  things  and  sit  down. 
Breakfast's  most  ready.  My  land,  I  guess  you 
must  be  pretty  nigh  starved  to  death.  Quimby 
told  me  who  was  cooking  for  you,  and  I  says  to 
Quimby :  'What/  I  says,  'that  no  account  woman- 
hater  messing  round  at  a  woman's  job,  like  that/ 
I  says.  'Heaven  pity  the  people  at  the  inn/  I 
says.  'Mr.  Peters  may  be  able  to  amuse  them 
with  stories  of  how  Cleopatra  whiled  away  the 
quiet  Egyptian  evenings/  I  says,  'and  he  may  be 
able  to  throw  a  little  new  light  on  Helen  of  Troy, 
who  would  object  to  having  it  thrown  if  she  was 
alive  and  the  lady  I  think  her,  but/  I  says,  'when 
it  comes  to  cooking,  I  guess  he  stands  about 
where  you  do,  Quimby/  You  see,  Quimby 's  rep 
ertory  consists  of  coffee  and  soup,  and  sometimes 
it's  hard  to  tell  which  he  means  for  which." 

"So  Mr.  Peters  has  taken  you  in  on  the  secret 


AS    SHAKESPEARE   HAS    IT      355 

of  the  book  he  is  writing  against  your  sex?"  re 
marked  Billy  Magee. 

"Not  exactly  that,"  Mrs.  Quimby  answered, 
brushing  back  a  wisp  of  gray  hair,  "but  he's  dis 
cussed  it  in  my  presence,  ignoring  me  at  the  time. 
You  see,  he  comes  down  here  and  reads  his  latest 
chapters  to  Quimby  o'  nights,  and  I've  caught 
quite  a  lot  of  it  on  my  way  between  the  cook- 
stove  and  the  sink." 

"I  ain't  no  judge  of  books,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Norton  from  a  comfortable  rocking-chair,  "but 
I'll  bet  that  one's  the  limit." 

"You're  right,  ma'am,"  Mrs.  Quimby  told  her. 
"I  ain't  saying  that  some  of  it  ain't  real  pretty 
worded,  but  that's  just  to  hide  the  falsehood 
underneath.  My  land,  the  lies  there  is  in  that 
book!  You  don't  need  to  know  much  about 
history  to  know  that  Jake  Peters  has  made  it 
over  to  fit  his  argument,  and  that  he  ain't  made 
it  over  so  well  but  what  the  old  seams  show  here 
and  there,  and  the  place  where  the  braid  was  is 
plain  as  daylight." 

After  ten  more  minutes  of  bustle,  Mrs.  Quim- 


356  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

by  announced  that  they  could  sit  down,  and  they 
were  not  slow  to  accept  the  invitation.  The 
breakfast  she  served  them  moved  Mr.  Magee  to 
remark : 

"I  want  to  know  where  I  stand  as  a  judge  of 
character.  On  the  first  night  I  saw  Mrs.  Quimby, 
without  tasting  a  morsel  of  food  cooked  by  her, 
I  said  she  was  the  best  cook  in  the  county." 

The  professor  looked  up  from  his  griddle  cakes. 

"Why  limit  it  to  the  county  ?"  he  asked.  "I 
should  say  you  were  too  parsimonious  in  your 
judgment." 

Mrs.  Quimby,  detecting  in  the  old  man's  words 
a  compliment,  flushed  an  even  deeper  red  as  she 
bent  above  the  stove.  Under  the  benign  influence 
of  the  food  and  the  woman's  cheery  personality, 
the  spirits  of  the  crowd  rose.  Baldpate  Inn  was 
in  the  past,  its  doors  locked,  its  seven  keys  scat 
tered  through  the  dawn.  Mrs.  Quimby,  as  she 
continued  to  press  food  upon  them,  spoke  with 
interest  of  the  events  that  had  come  to  pass  at 
the  inn. 

"It's  so  seldom  anything  really  happens  around 
here,"  she  said,  "I  just  been  hungering  for  news 


AS    SHAKESPEARE   HAS   IT      357 

of  the  strange  goings-on  up  there.  And  I  must 
say  Quimby  ain't  been  none  too  newsy  on  the 
subject.  I  threatened  to  come  up  and  join  in  the 
proceedings  myself,  especially  when  I  heard  about 
the  book-writing  cook  Providence  had  sent  you." 

"You  would  have  found  us  on  the  porch  with 
outstretched  arms,"  Mr.  Magee  assured  her. 

It  was  on  Kendrick  that  Mrs.  Quimby  show 
ered  her  attentions,  and  when  the  group  rose  to 
seek  the  station,  amid  a  consultation  of  watches 
that  recalled  the  commuter  who  rises  at  dawn 
to  play  tag  with  a  flippant  train,  Mr.  Magee  heard 
her  say  to  the  railroad  man  in  a  heartfelt  aside : 

"I  don't  know  as  I  can  ever  thank  you  enough, 
Mr.  Kendrick,  for  putting  new  hope  into  Quim 
by.  You'll  never  understand  what  it  means, 
when  you've  given  up,  and  your  life  seems  all 
done  and  wasted,  to  hear  that  there's  a  chance 
left." 

"Won't  I?"  replied  Kendrick  warmly.  "Mrs. 
Quimby,  it  will  make  me  a  very  happy  man  to 
give  your  husband  his  chance." 

The  first  streaks  of  dawn  were  in  the  sky  when 
the  hermits  of  Baldpate  filed  through  the  gate  into 


• 


358  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

the  road,  waving  good-by  to  Quimby  and  his 
wife,  who  stood  in  their  dooryard  for  the  fare- 
rwell.  Down  through  sleepy  little  Asquewan 
Tails  they  paraded,  meeting  here  and  there  a 
tired  man  with  a  lunch  basket  in  his  hand,  who 
stepped  to  one  side  and  frankly  stared  while  the 
odd  procession  passed. 

In  the  station  Mr.  Magee  encountered  an  old 
friend — he  of  the  mop  of  ginger-colored  hair. 
The  man  who  had  complained  of  the  slowness 
of  the  village  gazed  with  wide  eyes  at  Magee. 

"I  figured,"  he  said,  "that  you'd  come  this  way 
again.  Well,  I  must  say  you've  put  a  little  life 
into  this  place.  If  I'd  known  when  I  saw  you 
here  the  other  night  all  the  exciting  things  you 
had  up  your  sleeve,  I'd  a-gone  right  up  to  Bald- 
pate  with  you." 

"But  I  hadn't  anything  up  my  sleeve,"  pro 
tested  Magee. 

"Maybe,"  replied  the  agent,  winking.  "There's 
'some  pretty  giddy  stories  going  round  about  the 
carryings-on  up  at  Baldpate.  Shots  fired,  and 
strange  lights  flashing — dog-gone  it,  the  only 
thing  that's  happened  here  in  years,  and  I  wasn't 


AS    SHAKESPEARE   HAS   IT      359 

in  on  it.  I  certainly  wish  you'd  put  me  wise 
to  it" 

"By  the  way/'  inquired  Magee,  "did  you  notice 
the  passengers  from  here  on  the  ten-thirty  train 
last  night?" 

"Ten-thirty,"  repeated  the  agent.  "Say,  what 
sort  of  hours  do  you  think  I  keep?  A  man  has 
to  get  some  sleep,  even  if  he  does  work  for  a 
railroad.  I  wasn't  here  at  ten-thirty  last  night. 
Young  Cal  Hunt  was  on  duty  then.  He's  home 
and  in  bed  now." 

No  help  there.  Into  the  night  the  girl  and  the 
two  hundred  thousand  had  fled  together,  and 
Mr.  Magee  could  pnly  wait,  and  wonder,  as  to 
the  meaning  of  that  flight. 

Two  drooping  figures  entered  the  station — the 
mayof  and  his  faithful  lieutenant,  Max.  The 
dignity  of  the  former  had  faded  like  a  flower, 
j  nd  the  same  withered  simile  might  have  been 
applied  with  equal  force  to  the  accustomed  jaunt- 
iness  of  Lou. 

"Good  morning,"  said  Mr.  Magee  in  greeting. 
"Taking  an  early  train,  too,  eh?  Have  a  pleas 
ant  night  ?*' 


360  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"Young  man,"  replied  Cargan,  "if  you've  evet 
put  up  at  a  hotel  in  a  town  the  size  of  this,  called 
the  Commercial  House,  you  know  that  last  ques 
tion  has  just  one  answer — manslaughter.  I  heard 
a  minister  say  once  that  all  drummers  are  bound 
for  hell.  If  they  are,  it'll  be  a  pleasant  change 
for  'em." 

Mr.  Max  delved  beneath  his  overcoat,  and 
brought  forth  the  materials  for  a  cigarette,  which 
he  rolled  between  yellow  fingers. 

"If  I  was  a  drummer,"  he  said  dolefully,  "one 
breakfast — was  that  what  they  called  it,  Jim? — 
one  breakfast  like  we  just  passed  through  would 
drive  me  into  the  awful  habit  of  reading  one  of 
these  here  books  of  Drummers'  Yarns." 

"Sorry,"  smiled  Magee.  "We  had  an  excellent 
breakfast  at  Mrs.  Quimby's.  Really,  you  should 
have  stayed.  By  the  way,  where  is  Bland  ?" 

"Got  shaky  in  the  knees,"  said  Cargan. 
"Afraid  of  the  reformers.  Ain't  had  much  ex 
perience  in  these  things,  or  he'd  know  he  might 
just  as  well  tremble  at  the  approach  of  a  blue 
bottle  fly.  We  put  him  pn  a  train  going  the  other 
direction  from  Reuton  early  this  morning.  He 


AS   SHAKESPEARE   HAS   IT      361 

thinks  he'd  better  seek  his  fortune  elsewhere." 
He  leaned  in  heavy  confidence  toward  Magee, 
"Say,  young  fellow/*  he  whispered,  "put  me  wise. 
That  little  sleight  of  hand  game  you  worked  last 
night  had  me  dizzy.  Where's  the  coin  ?  Where's 
the  girl?  What's  the  game?  Take  the  boodle 
and  welcome — it  ain't  mine — but  put  me  next  to 
what's  doing,  so  I'll  know  how  my  instalment  of 
this  serial  story  ought  to  read.50 

"Mr.  Cargan,"  replied  Magee,  "you  know  as 
much  about  that  girl  as  I  do.  She  asked  me  to 
get  her  the  money,  and  I  did." 

"But  what's  your  place  in  the  game  ?" 

"A  looker-on  in  Athens,"  returned  Magee. 
"Translated,  a  guy  who  had  bumped  into  a  cy 
clone  and  was  sitting  tight  waiting  for  it  to  blow 
over.  I — I  took  a  fancy  to  her,  as  you  might  put 
it.  She  wanted  the  money.  I  got  it  for  her." 

"A  pretty  fairy  story,  my  boy,"  the  mayor 
commented. 

"Absolutely  true,"  smiled  Magee. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that  for  an  explanation, 
Lou,"  inquired  Cargan,  "she  asked  him  for  the 
money  and  he  gave  it  to  her?" 


362     SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

Mr.  Max  leered. 

"Say,  a  Broadway  chorus  would  be  pleased  to 
meet  you,  Magee,"  he  commented. 

"Don't  tell  any  of  your  chorus  friends  about 
me,"  replied  Magee.  "I  might  not  always  prove 
so  complacent.  Every  man  has  his  moments  of 
falling  for  romance.  Even  you  probably  fell 
once — and  what  a  fall  was  there." 

"Can  the  romance  stuff,"  pleaded  Max.  "This 
chilly  railway  station  wasn't  meant  for  such 
giddy  language." 

Wasn't  it?  Mr.  Magee  looked  around  at  the 
dingy  walls,  at  the  soiled  time-cards,  at  the  dis 
reputable  stove.  No  place  for  romance?  It  was 
here  he  had  seen  her  first,  in  the  dusk,  weeping 
bitterly  over  the  seemingly  hopeless  task  in  which 
he  was  destined  to  serve  her.  No  place  for  ro 
mance — and  here  had  begun  his  life's  romance. 
The  blue  blithe  sailor  still  stood  at  attention  in 
the  "See  the  World"  poster.  Magee  winked  at 
him.  He  knew  about  it  all,  he  knew,  he  knew — 
he  knew  how  alluring  she  had  looked  in  the  blue 
corduroy  suit,  the  bit  of  cambric  pressed  ago- 


AS   SHAKESPEARE   HAS   IT      36* 

nizingly  to  her  face.  Verily,  even  the  sailor  of 
the  posters  saw  the  world  and  all  its  glories. 

The  agent  leaned  his  face  against  the  bars. 

"Your  train,"  he  called,  "is  crossing  the  Main 
Street  trestle." 

They  filed  out  upon  the  platform,  Mr.  Magee 
carrying  Mrs.  Norton's  luggage  amid  her  effusive 
thanks.  On  the  platform  waited  a  stranger 
equipped  for  travel.  It  was  Mr.  Max  who  made 
the  great  discovery. 

"By  the  Lord  Harry,"  he  cried,  "it's  the  Her- 
mit  of  Baldpate  Mountain." 

And  so  it  was,  his  beard  gone,  his  hair  clumsily 
hacked,  his  body  garbed  in  the  height  of  an  old 
and  ludicrous  fashion,  his  face  set  bravely  toward 
the  cities  once  more. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  walked  the  floor,  thinking 
it  all  over.  I  knew  it  would  happen,  and  it  has. 
The  winters  are  hard,  and  the  sight  pf  you — it 
was  too  much.  The  excitement,  the  talk — it  did 
for  me,  did  for  my  oath.  So  I'm  going  back  to 
her — back  to  Brooklyn  for  Christmas." 

"A  merry  one  to  you,"  growled  Cargan. 


564     SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

"Maybe,"  replied  Mr.  Peters.  "Very  likely, 
if  she's  feeling  that  way.  I  hope  so,  I  ain't 
giving  up  the  hermit  job  altogether — I'll  come 
back  in  the  summers,  to  my  post-card  business. 
There's  money  in  it,  if  it's  handled  right.  But 
I've  spent  my  last  winter  on  that  lonesome  hill." 

"As  author  to  author,"  asked  Magee,  "how 
about  your  book?" 

"There  won't  be  any  mention  of  that,"  the 
hermit  predicted,  "in  Brooklyn.  I've  packed  it 
away.  Maybe  I  can  work  on  it  summers,  if  she 
doesn't  come  up  here  with  me  and  insist  on  run 
ning  my  hermit  business  for  me.  I  hope  she 
won't,  it  would  sort  of  put  a  crimp  in  it — but  if 
she  wants  to  I  won't  refuse.  And  maybe  that 
book'll  never  get  done.  Sometimes  as  I've  sat  in 
my  shack  at  night  and  read,  it's  come  to  me  that 
all  the  greatest  works  since  the  world  began  have 
been  those  that  never  got  finished." 

The  Reuton  train  roared  up  to  them  through 
the  gray  morning,  and  paused  impatiently  at 
Upper  Asquewan  Falls.  Aboard  it  clambered  the 
hermits,  amateur  and  professional.  Mr.  Magee, 


AS   SHAKESPEARE  HAS   IT 

from  the  platform,  waved  good-by  to  the  agent 
standing  forlorn  in  the  station  door.  He  watched 
the  building  until  it  was  only  a  blur  in  the  dawn. 
A  kindly  feeling  for  it  was  in  his  heart.  After 
all,  it  had  been  in  the  waiting-room— 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE  ADMIRAL'S  GAME 

THE  village  of  Upper  Asquewan  Falls  gave 
a  correct  imitation  of  snow  upon  the  des 
ert's  dusty  face,  and  was  no  more.  Bidding  a  re 
luctant  good-by  to  up-state  romance,  Mr.  Magee 
entered  the  solitary  day  coach  which,  with  a 
smoker,  made  up  the  local  to  Reuton.  He  spent 
a  few  moments  adjusting  Mrs.  Norton  to  her 
new  environment,  and  listened  to  her  voluble  ex 
pressions  of  joy  in  the  fact  that  her  boarding- 
house  loomed  ahead.  Then  he  started  for  the 
smoker.  On  his  way  he  paused  at  the  seat  occu 
pied  by  the  ex-hermit  of  Baldpate,  and  fixed  his 
eyes  on  the  pale  blue  necktie  Mr.  Peters  had  res 
urrected  for  his  return  to  the  world  of  men. 

"Pretty,  ain't  it?"  remarked  the  hermit,  see 
ing  whither  Mr.   Magee's  gaze  drifted.     "She, 
picked  it.    I  didn't  exactly  like  it  when  she  first 
366 


THE  ADMIRAL'S   GAME          367 

gave  it  to  me,  but  I  see  my  mistake  now.  I'm 
wearing  it  home  as  a  sort  of  a  white  flag  of  truce. 
Or  almost  white.  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Magee, 
I'm  somewhat  nervous  about  what  I'll  say  when  I' 
come  into  her  presence  again — about  my  inau 
gural  address,  you  might  put  it.  What  would  be 
your  conversation  on  such  an  occasion?  If  you'd 
been  away  from  a  wife  for  five  years,  what  would 
you  say  when  you  drifted  back?" 

"That  would  depend,"  replied  Magee,  "on  the 
amount  of  time  she  allowed  me  for  my  speech.'' 

"You've  hit  the  nail  on  the  head,"  replied  Mr. 
Peters  admiringly.  "She's  quick.  She's  like 
lightning.  She  won't  give  me  any  time  if  she 
can  help  it.  That's  why  I'd  like  to  have  a  won 
derful  speech  all  ready — something  that  would 
hold  her  spellbound  and  tongue-tied  until  I  fin 
ished.  It  would  take  a  literary  classic  to  do  that." 

"What  you  want,"  laughed  Magee,  "is  a  speech 
with  the  punch." 

"Exactly,"  agreed  Mr.  Peters.  "I  guess  I 
won't  go  over  to  Brooklyn  the  minute  I  hit  New 
York.  I  guess  I'll  study  the  lights  along  the 
big  street,  and  brush  elbows  with  the  world  a 


368  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

bit,  before  I  reveal  myself  to  her.  Maybe  if  I 
took  in  a  few  shows  —  but  don't  think  I  won't 
go  to  her.  My  mind  is  made  up.  And  I  guess 
she'll  be  glad  to  see  me,  too.  In  her  way.  I 
got  to  fix  it  with  her,  though,  to  come  back  to 
my  post-card  trade  in  the  summers.  I  wonder 
what  she'll  say  to  that.  Maybe  she  could  stay  at 
the  inn  under  an  assumed  name  while  I  was 
hermiting  up  at  the  shack." 

He  laughed  softly. 

"It'd  be  funny,  wouldn't  it,"  he  said.  "Her  sit 
ting  on  the  veranda  watching  me  sell  post-cards  to 
the  ladies,  and  listening  to  the  various  stories  of 
how  a  lost  love  has  blighted  my  life,  and  so  forth. 
Yes,  it'd  be  real  funny  —  only  Ellen  never  had 
much  sense  of  humor.  That  was  always  her 
great  trouble.  If  you  ever  marry,  Mr.  Magee, 
and  I  suppose  you  will,  take  my  advice.  Marry 
a  sense  of  humor  first,  and  a  woman  incidental- 


Mr.  Magee  promised1  to  bear  this  counsel  in 
mind,  and  went  forward  into  the  smoking-car. 
Long  rows  of  red  plush  seats,  unoccupied  save 
for  the  mayor  and  Max,  greeted  his  eye.  He 


THE   ADMIRAL'S   GAME          369 

strolled  to  where  they  sat,  about  half-way  down 
the  car,  and  lighted  an  after-breakfast  cigar. 

Max  slouched  in  the  unresponsive  company  of 
a  cigarette  on  one  side  of  the  car ;  across  the  aisle 
the  mayor  of  Reuton  leaned  heavily  above  a  card- 
table  placed  between  two  seats.  He  was  playing 
solitaire.  Mr.  Magee  wondered  whether  this  was 
merely  a  display  of  bravado  against  scheming  re 
formers,  or  whether  Mr.  Cargan  found  in  it  real 
diversion.  Curious,  he  slid  into  the  place  across 
the  table  from  the  mayor. 

"Napoleon,"  he  remarked  lightly,  "whiled  away 
many  a  dull  hour  with  cards,  I  believe." 

Clumsily  the  mayor  shuffled  the  cards.  He 
flung  them  down  one  by  one  on  the  polished  sur 
face  of  the  table  rudely,  as  though  they  were  re 
form  votes  he  was  counting.  His  thick  lips  were 
tightly  closed,  his  big  hands  hovered  with  unac 
customed  uncertainty  over  the  pasteboards. 

"Quit  your  kidding,"  he  replied.  "I  don't  ber 
lieve  cards  was  invented  in  Nap's  day.  Was  they? 
It's  a  shame  a  fellow  can't  have  a  little  admiration 
for  a  great  leader  like  Nap  without  all  you  funny 
boys  jollying  him  about  it  That  boy  sure  knew 


370  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

how  to  handle  the  voters.  I've  read  a  lot  about 
him,  and  I  like  his  style." 

"You  let  history  alone,"  snarled  Mr.  Max, 
across  the  aisle,  "or  it'll  repeat  itself  and  anothei 
guy  I  know'll  go  to  the  island." 

"If  you  mean  me,"  returned  Cargan,  "forget  it. 
There  ain't  no  St  Helena  in  my  future."  He 
winked  at  Magee.  "Lou's  a  little  peevish  this 
morning,"  he  said.  "Had  a  bad  night." 

He  busied  himself  with  the  cards.  Mr.  Ma- 
gee  looked  pn,  only  half  interested.  Then,  sud 
denly,  his  interest  grew.  He  watched  the  mayor 
build,  in  two  piles;  he  saw  that  the  deck  from 
which  he  built  was  thick.  A  weird  suspicion  shot 
across  his  mind. 

"Tell  me,"  he  asked,  "is  this  the  admiral's  game 
of  solitaire  ?" 

"Exactly  what  I  was  going  to  ask,"  said  a  voice. 
Magee  looked  up.  Kendrick  had  come  in,  and 
stood  now  above  the  table.  His  tired  eyes  werfl 
upon  it,  fascinated ;  his  lips  twitched  strangely. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  mayor,  "this  is  the  ad 
miral's  game.  You'd  hardly  expect  me  to  know 
}t,  would  you  ?  I  don't  hang  out  at  the  swell  clubs 


THE   ADMIRAL'S    GAME          371 

where  the  admiral  does.  They  won't  have  me 
there.  But  once  I  took  the  admiral  on  a  public 
service  board  with  me — one  time  when  I  wanted 
a  lot  of  dignity  and  no  brains  pretty  bad — and  he 
sort  of  come  back  by  teaching  me  his  game  in  the 
long  dull  hours  when  we  had  nothing  to  do  but 
serve  the  public.  The  thing  gets  a  hold  on  you, 
somehow.  Let's  see — now  the  spade — now  the 
heart." 

Kendrick  leaned  closer.  His  breath  came  with 
a  noisy  quickness  that  brought  the  fact  of  his 
breathing  insistently  to  Magee's  mind. 

"I  never  knew — how  it  was  played,"  he  said. 

Something  told  Mr.  Magee  that  he  ought  to 
rise  and  drag  Kendrick  away  from  that  table. 
Why?  He  did  not  know.  Still,  it  ought  to  be 
done.  But  the  look  in  Kendrick's  eyes  showed 
clearly  that  the  proverbial  wild  horses  could  not 
do  it  then. 

"Tell  me  how  it's  played,"  went  on  Kendrick, 
trying  to  be  calm. 

"You  must  be  getting  old,"  replied  the  mayor. 
"The  admiral  told  me  the  young  men  at  his  club 
never  took  any  interest  in  his  game.  'Solitaire/ 


372  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

he  says  to  me,  'is  an  old  man's  trade/  It's  a  great 
game,  Mr.  Kendrick." 

"A  great  game,"  repeated  Kendrick,  "yes,  it's 
a  great  game."  His  tone  was  dull.  "I  want  to 
know  how  it's  played,"  he  said  again. 

"The  six  of  clubs,"  reflected  the  mayor,  throw 
ing  down  another  card.  "Say,  she's  going  fine 
now.  There  ain't  much  to  it.  You  use  two  decks, 
exactly  alike — shuffle  'em  together — the  eight  of 
hearts — the  jack  of — say,  that's  great — you  lay 
the  cards  down  here,  just  as  they  come — like 
this—" 

He  paused.  His  huge  hand  held  a  giddy  paste 
board.  A  troubled  look  was  on  his  face.  Then 
he  smiled  happily,  and  went  on  in  triumph. 

"And  then  you  build,  Mr.  Kendrick,"  he  said. 
"The  reds  and  the  blacks.  You  build  the  blacks 
on  the  left,  and  the  reds  on  the  right — do  you 
get  me  ?  Then — say,  what's  the  matter  ?" 

For  Kendrick  had  swayed  and  almost  fallen  on 
the  admiral's  game — the  game  that  had  once  sent 
a  man  to  hell. 

"Go  on,"  he  said,  bracing.  "Nothing's  the 
matter.  Go  on.  Build,  damn  it,  build !" 


THE  ADMIRAL'S   GAME          373 

The  mayor  looked  at  him  a  moment  in  surprise, 
then  continued. 

"Now  the  king,"  he  muttered,  "now  the  ace. 
We're  on  the  home  stretch,  going  strong.  There, 
it's  finished.  It's  come  out  right  A  great  game, 
I  tell  you." 

He  leaned  back.  Kendrick's  fever-yellowed 
face  was  like  a  bronze  mask.  His  eyes  were 
fiercely  on  the  table  and  the  two  decks  of  cards 
that  lay  there. 

"And  when  you've  finished,"  he  pointed. 
"When  you've  finished—" 

Mr.  Cargan  picked  up  the  deck  on  the  left. 

"All  black,"  he  said,  "when  the  game  comes  out 
right" 

"And  the  other?"  Kendrick  persisted  softly. 
He  pointed  to  the  remaining  deck.  A  terrible 
smile  of  understanding  drew  his  thin  lips  taut. 
"And  the  other,  Mr.  Cargan?" 

"Red,"  replied  Cargan.  "What  else  could  it 
be?  All  red." 

He  picked  it  up  and  shuffled  through  it  to  prove 
his  point.  Kendrick  turned  like  a  drunken  man 
and  staggered  back  down  the  aisle.  Magee  rose 


374  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

and  hurried  after  him.  At  the  door  he  turned, 
and  the  look  on  his  face  caused  Magee  to  shud 
der. 

"You  heard?"  he  said  helplessly.  "My  God! 
It's  funny,  isn't  it?"  He  laughed  hysterically, 
and  drawing  out  his  handkerchief,  passed  it  across 
his  forehead.  "A  pleasant  thing  to  think  about 
— a  pleasant  thing  to  remember." 

Professor  Bolton  pushed  open  the  smoker  door. 

"I  thought  I'd  join  you,"  he  began.  "Why, 
David,  what  is  it?  What's  the  matter?" 

"Nothing,"  replied  Kendrick  wildly.  "There's 
nothing  the  matter.  Let  me — by — please."  He 
crossed  the  swaying  platform  and  disappeared 
into  the  other  car. 

For  a  moment  the  professor  and  Magee  gazed 
after  him,  and  then  without  a  word  moved  down 
the  car  to  join  Cargan  and  Max.  Magee's  mind 
was  dazed  by  the  tragedy  he  had  witnessed.  "A 
pleasant  thing  to  think  about — "  He  did  not 
envy  Kendrick  his  thoughts. 

The  mayor  of  Reuton  had  pushed  aside  the 
cards  and  lighted  a  huge  cigar. 

"Well,   Doc,"  he   remarked  jocosely,   "how's 


THE   ADMIRAL'S    GAME          375 

trade  ?  Sold  any  new  schemes  for  renovating  the 
world  to  the  up-state  rubes?  I  should  think  this 
would  be  sort  of  an  off-season  for  the  reform 
(business.  Peace  on  earth,  good  will  toward  men 
— that  ain't  exactly  a  good  advertisement  for  the 
reformers,  is  it?" 

"It's  an  excellent  one/'  replied  Professor  Bol- 
ton.  "The  first  essential  of  good  will  toward  mea 
is  not  to  rob  and  debauch  them." 

"Oh,  well,  Doc,  don't  let's  argue  the  matter," 
replied  Cargan  easily.  "I  ain't  in  the  humor  for 
it,  anyhow.  You  got  your  beliefs,  and  I  got  my 
beliefs.  And  that  ain't  no  reason  why  we  should 
not  smoke  a  couple  of  good  cigars  together. 
Have  one?" 

"Thanks.  I — "  reluctantly  the  old  man  took  a 
gay-banded  Havana  from  the  mayor's  huge  fist. 
"You're  very  kind." 

"I  suppose  it's  sort  of  a  blow  to  you,"  the 
mayor  went  on,  "that  your  plans  up  there  on  the 
mountain  went  all  to  smash.  It  ought  to  teach 
you  a  lesson,  Doc.  There  ain't  nothing  to  the 
reform  gag." 

The  train  slowed  down  at  a  small  yellow  sta- 


376  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

tion.  Mr.  Magee  peered  out  the  window.  "Hoop- 
erstown,"  he  read,  "Reuton — 10  miles."  He  saw 
Mr.  Max  get  up  and  leave  the  car. 

"Not  a  thing  to  it,  Doc,"  Cargan  repeated. 
"Your  bunch  has  tried  to  get  me  before.  You've 
shouted  from  the  housetops  that  you  had  the 
goods  on  me.  What's  always  happened  ?" 

"Your  own  creatures  have  acquitted  you,"  re 
plied  the  professor,  from  a  cloud  pf  Cargan 
cigar  smoke. 

"Fair-minded  men  decfded  that  I  hadn't  done 
wrong.  I  tell  you,  Doc,  there's  dishonest  graft, 
and  I'm  against  that  always.  And  there's  honest 
graft — the  rightful  perquisites  of  a  high  office. 
That's  the  trouble  with  you  church  politicians. 
You  can't  see  the  difference  between  the  two." 

"I'm  not  a  church  politician,"  protested  the 
professor.  "I'm  bitterly  opposed  to  the  lily-white 
crowd  who  continually  rant  against  the  thing  they 
don't  understand.  I'm  practical,  as  practical  as 
you,  and  when — " 

Noiselessly  Mr.  Max  slid  up  to  the  group,  and 
stood  silent,  his  eyes  wide,  his  yellow  face  piti- 


THE  ADMIRAL'S   GAME          377 

ful,  the  fear  of  a  dog  about  to  be  whipped  in  his 
every  feature. 

"Jim,"  he  cried,  "Jim !  You  got  to  get  me  out 
of  this.  You  got  to  stand  by  me." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Lou?"  asked  the 
mayor  in  surprise. 

"Matter  enough,"  whined  Max.  "Do  you 
know  what's  happened?  Well,  I'll  tell—" 

Mr.  Max  was  thrust  aside,  and  replaced  by  a 
train  newsboy.  Mr.  Magee  felt  that  he  should 
always  remember  that  boy,  his  straw  colored  hair, 
his  freckled  beaming  face,  his  lips  with  their 
fresh  perpetual  smile. 

"All  the  morning  papers,  gents,"  proclaimed 
the  boy.  "Get  the  Reuton  Star.  All  about  the 
bribery." 

He  held  up  the  paper.  It's  huge  black  head 
lines  looked  dull  and  old  and  soggy.  But  the 
story  they  told  was  new  and  live  and  startling. 

"The  Mayor  Trapped,"  shrilled  the  head-lines. 
"Attempt  to  Pass  Big  Bribe  at  Baldpate  Inn 
Foiled  by  Star  Reporter.  Hayden  of  the  Subur 
ban  Commits  Suicide  to  Avoid  Disgrace." 


378     SEVEN   KEYS  TO   BALDPATE 

"Give  me  a  paper,  boy,"  said  the  mayor.  "Yes 
— a  Star."  His  voice  was  even,  his  face  un 
moved.  He  took  the  sheet  and  studied  it,  with 
an  easy  smile.  Clinging  in  fear  to  his  side,  Max 
read,  too.  At  length  Mr.  Cargan  spoke,  looking 
up  at  Magee. 

"So,"  he  remarked.  "So — reporters,  eh?  You 
and  your  lady  friend  ?  Reporters  for  this  lying 
sheet— the  Star?1' 

Mr.  Magee  smiled  up  from  his  own  copy  of 
the  paper. 

"Not  I,"  he  answered.  "But  my  lady  friend — 
yes.  It  seems  she  was  just  that.  A  Star  reporter 
you  can  call  her,  and  tell  no  lie,  Mr.  Mayor." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  MAYOR  IS  WELCOMED  HOME 

IT  was  a  good  story — the  story  which  the 
mayor,  Max,  the  professor  and  Magee  read 
with  varying  emotions  there  in  the  smoking-car, 
The  girl  had  served  her  employers  well,  and  Mr, 
Magee,  as  he  read,  felt  a  thrill  of  pride  in  her, 
Evidently  the  employers  had  felt  that  same  thrill, 
For  in  the  captions  under  the  pictures,  in  the 
head-lines,  and  in  a  first-page  editorial,  none  of 
which  the  girl  had  written,  the  Star  spoke  ad 
miringly  of  its  woman  reporter  who  had  done  a 
man's  work — who  had  gone  to  Baldpate  Inn  and 
had  brought  back  a  gigantic  bribe  fund  "alone 
and  unaided". 

"Indeed?"  smiled  Mr.  Magee  to  himself. 

In  the  editorial  on  that  first  page  the  trium 
phant  cry  of  the  Star  arose  to  shatter  its  fellows 
in  the  heavens.  At  last,  said  the  editor,  the  long 
379 


3.8o     SEVEN   KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

campaign  which  his  paper  alone  of  all  the  Reuton 
papers  had  waged  against  a  corrupt  city  adminis 
tration  was  brought  to  a  successful  close.  The 
victory  was  won.  How  had  this  been  accom 
plished  ?  Into  the  Star  office  had  come  rumors, 
a  few  days  back,  of  the  proposed  payment  of  a 
big  bribe  at  the  inn  on  Baldpate  Mountain.  The 
paper  had  decided  that  one  of  its  representatives 
must  be  on  the  ground.  It  had  debated  long 
whom  to  send.  Miss  Evelyn  Rhodes,  its  well- 
known  special  writer,  had  got  the  tip  in  question ; 
she  had  pleaded  to  go  to  the  inn.  The  editor, 
considering  her  sex,  had  sternly  refused.  Then 
gradually  he  had  been  brought  to  see  the  wisdom 
of  sending  a  girl  rather  than  a  man.  The  sex  of 
the  former  would  put  the  guilty  parties  under  sur 
veillance  off  guard.  So  Miss  Rhodes  was  des 
patched  to  the  inn.  Here  was  her  story.  It  con 
victed  Cargan  beyond  a  doubt.  The  very  money 
offered  as  a  bribe  was  now  in  the  hands  of  the 
Star  editor,  and  would  be  turned  over  to  Prose 
cutor  Drayton  at  his  request.  All  this  under  the 
disquieting  title  "Prison  Stripes  for  the  Mayor". 
The  girl's  story  told  how,  with  one  companion, 


WELCOMED   HOME  381 

she  had  gone  to  Upper  Asquewan  Falls.  There 
was  no  mention  of  the  station  waiting-room,  nor 
of  the  tears  shed  therein  on  a  certain  evening,  Mr. 
Magee  noted.  She  had  reached  the  inn  on  the 
morning  of  the  day  when  the  combination  was  to 
be  phoned.  Bland  was  already  there,  shortly 
after  came  the  mayor  and  Max. 

"You  got  to  get  me  out  of  this,"  Magee  heard 
Max  pleading  over  Cargan's  shoulder. 

"Keep  still!"  replied  the  mayor  roughly.  He 
was  reading  his  copy  of  the  Star  with  keen  in 
terest  now. 

"I've  done  your  dirty  work  for  years,"  whined 
Max.  "Who  puts  on  the  rubber  shoes  and  sneaks 
up  dark  alleys  hunting  votes  among  the  garbage, 
while  you  do  the  Old  Glory  stunt  on  Main  Street? 
I  do.  You  got  to  get  me  out  of  this.  It  may 
mean  jail.  I  couldn't  stand  that.  I'd  die." 

A  horrible  parody  of  a  man's  real  fear  was  in 
his  face.  The  mayor  shook  himself  as  though 
he  would  be  rid  forever  of  the  coward  hanging 
on  his  arm. 

"Hush  up,  can't  you?"  he  said.  "I'll  see  you 
through." 


382  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"You  got  to,"  Lou  Max  wailed. 

Miss  Rhodes'  story  went  on  to  tell  how  Hay- 
den  refused  to  phone  the  combination;  how  the 
mayor  and  Max  dynamited  the  safe  and  secured 
the  precious  package,  only  to  lose  it  in  another 
moment  to  a  still  different  contingent  at  the  inn; 
how  Hay  den  had  come,  of  his  suicide  when  he 
found  that  his  actions  were  in  danger  of  ex 
posure — "a  bitter  smile  for  Kendrick  in  that"  re 
flected  Magee — and  how  finally,  through  a  strange 
series  of  accidents,  the  money  came  into  the  hands 
of  the  writer  for  the  Star.  These  accidents  were 
not  given  in  detail. 

"An  amusing  feature  of  the  whole  affair,"  said 
Miss  Evelyn  Rhodes,  "was  the  presence  at  the 
inn  of  Mr.  William  Hallow  ell  Magee,  the  New 
York  writer  of  light  fiction,  who  had  come  there 
to  escape  the  distractions  of  a  great  city,  and  to 
work  in  the  solitude,  and  who  immediately  on  his 
arrival  became  involved  in  the  surprising  drama 
of  Baldpate." 

"I'm  an  amusing  feature,"  reflected  Magee. 

"Mr.  Magee,"  continued  Miss  Rhodes,  "will 
doubtless  be  one  of  the  state's  chief  witnesses 


WELCOMED   HOME  383 

when  the  case  against  Cargan  comes  to  trial,  as 
will  also  Professor  Thaddeus  Bolton,  holder  of 
the  Crandall  Chair  of  Comparative  Literature  at 
Reuton  University,  and  Mr.  David  Kendrick, 
formerly  pf  the  Suburban,  but  who  retired  six 
years  ago  to  take  up  his  residence  abroad.  The 
latter,two  went  to  the  inn  to  represent  Prosecutor 
Drayton,  and  made  every  effort  in  their  power 
to  secure  the  package  of  money  from  the  reporter 
for  the  Star,  not  knowing  her  connection  with 
the  affair." 

"Well,  Mr.  Magee?"  asked  Professor  Bolton, 
laying  down  the  paper  which  he  had  been  perus 
ing  at  a  distance  of  about  an  inch  from  his  nose. 

"Once  again,  Professor,"  laughed  Magee,  "re 
porters  have  entered  your  life." 

The  old  man  sighed. 

"It  was  very  kind  of  her,"  he  said,  "not  to 
mention  that  I  was  the  person  who  compared 
blondes  of  the  peroxide  variety  with  suffragettes. 
Others  will  not  be  so  kind.  The  matter  will  be 
resurrected  and  used  against  me  at  the  trial,  I'm 
sure.  A  plucky  girl,  Mr.  Magee — a  very  plucky 
girl.  How  times  do  change.  When  I  was  young, 


384  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

girls  of  her  age  would  scarcely  have  thought  of 
venturing  forth  into  the  highways  on  such  peril 
ous  missions.  I  congratulate  you.  You  showed 
unusual  perception.  You  deserve  a  great  reward 
— the  young  lady's  favor,  let  us  say." 

"You  got  to  get  me  out  of  this,"  Max  was  still 
telling  the  mayor. 

"For  God's  sake,"  cried  Cargan,  "shut  up  and 
let  me  think."  He  sat  for  a  moment  staring  at 
one  place,  his  face  still  lacking  all  emotion,  but 
his  eyes  a  trifle  narrower  than  before.  "You 
haven't  got  me  yet,"  he  cried,  standing  up.  "By 
the  eternal,  I'll  fight  to  the  last  ditch,  and  I'll 
win.  I'll  show  Drayton  he  can't  play  this  game 
'on  me.  I'll  show  the  Star.  That  dirty  sheet 
has  hounded  me  for  years.  I'll  put  it  out  of 
business.  And  I'll  send  the  reformers  howling 
into  the  alleys,  sick  of  the  fuss  they  started  them 
selves." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Professor  Bolton.  "But  only 
after  the  fight  of  your  life,  Cargan." 

"I'm  ready  for  it,"  cried  Cargan.  "I  ain't 
down  and  out  yet.  But  to  think — a  woman — a 
little  bit  of  a  girl  I  could  have  put  in  my  pocket 


WELCOMED   HOME  385 

— it's  all  a  big  joke.  I'll  beat  them — I'll  show 
them — the  game's  far  from  played  out — I'll  win 
—and— if— I— don't—" 

He  crumbled  suddenly  into  his  seat,  his  eyes 
on  that  unpleasant  line  about  "Prison  Stripes  for 
the  Mayor".  For  an  instant  it  seemed  as  though 
his  fight  was  irrevocably  lost,  and  he  knew  it. 
Lines  of  age  appeared  to  creep  from  out  the  fat 
folds  of  his  face,  and  stand  mockingly  there.  He 
looked  a  beaten  man. 

"If  I  don't,"  he  stammered  pitifully,  "well, 
they  sent  him  to  an  island  at  the  end.  The  re 
formers  got  Napoleon  at  the  last.  I  won't  be 
alone  in  that." 

At  this  unexpected  sight  of  weakness  in  his 
hero,  Mr.  Max  set  up  a  renewed  babble  of  fear 
at  his  side.  The  train  was  in  the  Reuton  sub 
urbs  now.  At  a  neat  little  station  it  slowed  down 
to  a  stop,  and  a  florid  policeman  entered  the 
smoking-car.  Cargan  looked  up. 

"Hello,  Dan,"  he  said.  His  voice  was  lifeless; 
the  old-time  ring  was  gone. 

The  policeman  removed  his  helmet  and  shifted 
it  nervously. 


386     SEVEN    KEYS   TO   BALDPATE 

"I  thought  I'd  tell  you,  Mr.  Cargan,"  he  said. 
"I  thought  I'd  warn  you.  You'd  better  get  off 
here.  There's  a  big  crowd  in  the  station  at  Reu- 
ton.  They're  waiting  for  you,  sir;  they've  heard 
you're  on  this  train.  This  lying  newspaper,  Mr. 
Cargan,  it's  been  telling  tales — I  guess  you  know 
about  that.  There's  a  big  mob.  You  better  get 
off  here,  sir,  and  go  down-town  on  a  car." 

If  the  mighty  Cargan  had  looked  limp  and 
beaten  for  a  moment  he  looked  that  way  no  more. 
He  stood  up,  and  his  head  seemed  almost  to 
touch  the  roof  of  the  car.  Over  that  big  patrol 
man  he  towered;  his  eyes  were  cold  and  hard 
again ;  his  lips  curved  in  the  smile  of  the  master. 

"And  why,"  he  bellowed,  "should  I  get  off 
here?  Tell  me  that,  Dan." 

"Well,  sir,"  replied  the  embarrassed  copper, 
"they're  ugly.  There's  no  telling  what  they  might 
do.  It's  a  bad  mob — this  newspaper  has  stirred 
'em  up." 

"Ugly,  are  they?"  sneered  Cargan.  "Ever 
seen  the  bunch  I  would  go  put  of  my  way  for, 
Dan?" 


WELCOMED   HOME  387 

"I  meant  it  all  right,  sir/'  said  Dan.  "As  a 
friend  to  a  man  who's  been  a  friend  to  me.  No, 
I  never  saw  you  afraid  of  any  bunch  yet,  but 
this—" 

"This,"  replied  Cargan,  "is  the  same  old  bunch. 
The  same  lily-livered  crowd  that  I've  seen  in  the 
streets  since  I  laid  the  first  paving  stone  under 
'em  myself  in '91.  Afraid  of  them?  Hell!  I'd 
walk  through  an  ant  hill  as  scared  as  I  would 
through  that  mob.  Thanks  for  telling  me,  Dan, 
but  Jim  Cargan  won't  be  in  the  mollycoddle  class 
for  a  century  or  two  yet." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  patrolman  admiringly.  He 
hurried  out  of  the  car,  and  the  mayor  turned  to 
find  Lou  Max  pale  and  fearful  by  his  side. 

"What  ails  you  now?"  he  asked. 

"I'm  afraid,"  cried  Max.  "Did  you  hear  what 
he  said?  A  mob.  I  saw  a  mob  once.  Never 
again  for  me."  He  tried  to  smile,  to  pass  it  off 
as  a  pleasant  jest,  but  he  had  to  wet  his  lips  with 
his  tongue  before  he  could  go  on.  "Come  on, 
Jim.  Get  off  here.  Don't  be  a  fool." 

The  train  began  to  move. 


388  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"Get  off  yourself,  you  coward,"  sneered  Car- 
gan.  "Oh,  I  know  you.  It  doesn't  take  much 
to  make  your  stomach  shrink.  Get  off." 

Max  eagerly  seized  his  hat  and  bag. 

"I  will,  if  you  don't  mind,"  he  said.  "See  you 
later  at  Charlie's."  And  in  a  flash  of  tawdry  at 
tire,  he  was  gone. 

The  mayor  of  Reuton  no  longer  sat  limp  in 
his  seat.  That  brief  moment  of  seeming  sur 
render  was  put  behind  forever.  He  walked  the 
aisle  of  the  car,  fire  in  his  eyes,  battle  in  his 
heart. 

"So  they're  waiting  for  me,  eh?"  he  said 
aloud.  "Waiting  for  Jim  Cargan.  Now  ain't 
it  nice  of  them  to  come  and  meet  their  mayor?" 

Mr.  Magee  and  the  professor  went  into  the 
day  coach  for  their  baggage.  Mrs.  Norton  mo 
tioned  to  the  former. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "you  know  now,  I  suppose. 
And  it  didn't  do  you  no  harm  to  wait.  I  sure 
am  glad  this  to-do  is  all  over,  and  that  child  is 
safe.  And  I  hope  you'll  remember  what  I  said. 
It  ain't  no  work  for  a  woman,  no  how,  what  with 
the  shooting  and  the  late  hours." 


WELCOMED   HOME  389 

"Your  words/'  said  Mr.  Magee,  "are  engraven 
on  my  heart."  He  proceeded  to  gather  her  bag 
gage  with  his  own,  and  was  thus  engaged  when 
Kendrick  came  up.  The  shadow  of  his  discovery 
in  the  smoking-car  an  hour  before  still  haunted 
his  sunken  eyes,  but  his  lips  were  half  smiling 
with  the  new  joy  of  living  that  had  come  to  him. 

"Mr.  Magee,"  he  began,  "I  hardly  need  men 
tion  that  the  terrible  thing  which  happened — in 
there — is  between  you  and  me — and  the  man 
who's  dead.  No  one  must  know.  Least  of  all, 
the  girl  who  is  to  become  my  wife — it  would  em 
bitter  her  whole  life — as  it  has  mine." 

"Don't  say  that,"  Magee  pleaded.  "You  will 
forget  in  time,  I'm  sure.  And  you  may  trust  me 
— I  had  forgotten  already."  And  indeed  he  had, 
on  the  instant  when  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  Reuton 
Star. 

Miss  Thornhill  approached,  her  dark  smiling 
eyes  on  Magee.  Kendrick  looked  at  her  proudly, 
and  spoke  suddenly,  determinedly : 

"You're  right,  I  will  forget.  She  shall  help 
me." 

"Mr.  Magee,"  said  the  girl,  "I'm  so  pleased 


390  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

at  the  splendid  end  to  your  impulsive  philan 
thropy.  I  just  knew  the  adventure  couldn't  have 
anything  but  a  happy  ending — it  was  so  full  of 
youth  and  faith  and — and  charity  or  its  synonym. 
This  mustn't  be  good-by.  You  must  come  and 
see  me — come  and  see  us — all." 

"I  shall  be  happy  to,"  answered  Magee  sin 
cerely.  "It  will  always  be  a  matter  of  regret  to 
me  that  I  was  not  able  to  serve  you — also — on 
Baldpate  Mountain.  But  out  of  it  you  come  with 
something  more  precious  than  fine  gold,  and  that 
shall  be  my  consolation." 

"Let  it  be,"  smiled  Myra  Thornhill,  "as  it  is 
surely  mine.  Good-by." 

"And  good  luck,"  whispered  Magee,  as  he  took 
Kendrick's  hand. 

Over  his  shoulder,  as  he  passed  to  the  platform, 
he  saw  them  look  into  each  other's  eyes,  and  he 
felt  that  the  memory  of  the  admiral's  game  would 
in  time  cease  to  haunt  David  Kendrick. 

A  shadow  had  fallen  upon  the  train — the 
shadow  of  the  huge  Reuton  station.  In  the  half- 
light  on  the  platform  Mr.  Magee  encountered 
the  mayor  of  Reuton.  Above  the  lessening  roar 


WELCOMED   HOME  391 

of  the  train  there  sounded  ahead  of  them  the 
voices  of  men  in  turmoil  and  riot.  Mr.  Cargan 
turned  upon  Magee  a  face  as  placid  and  dispas 
sionate  as  that  of  one  who  enters  an  apple  or 
chard  in  May. 

"The  boys,"  he  smiled  grimly,  "welcoming  me 
home." 

Then  the  train  came  to  a  stop,  and  Mr.  Magee 
looked  down  into  a  great  array  of  faces,  and 
heard  for  the  first  time  the  low  unceasing  rumble 
of  an  angry  mob.  Afterward  he  marveled  at  that 
constant  guttural  roar,  how  it  went  on  and  on, 
humming  like  a  tune,  never  stopping,  disconnected 
quite  from  the  occasional  shrill  or  heavy  voices 
that  rang  out  in  distinguishable  words.  The 
mayor  looked  coolly  down  into  those  upturned 
faces,  he  listened  a  moment  to  the  rumble  pf  a 
thousand  throats,  then  he  took  off  his  derby  with 
satiric  politeness. 

"Glad  to  see  one  and  all !"  he  cried. 

And  now  above  the  mutterings  angry  words 
could  be  heard,  "That's  him,"  "That's  two- 
hundred-thousand-dollar  Cargan,"  "How's  the 
weather  on  Baldpate?"  and  other  sarcastic  flings. 


392  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

Then  a  fashion  of  derisive  cat-calls  came  and 
went.  After  which,  here  and  there,  voices  spoke 
of  ropes,  of  tar  and  feathers.  And  still  the 
mayor  smiled  as  one  for  whom  the  orchard  gate 
swung  open  in  May. 

A  squad  of  policemen,  who  had  entered  the  car 
from  the  rear/  forced  their  way  put  on  to  the 
platform. 

"Want  us  to  see  you  through  the  crowd,  Mr. 
Cargan  ?"  the  lieutenant  asked. 

New  hoots  and  cries  ascended  to  the  station 
rafters.  "Who  pays  the  police?"  "We  do." 
"Who  owns  'em?"  "Cargan."  Thus  question 
and  answer  were  bandied  back  and  forth.  Again 
a  voice  demanded  in  strident  tones  the  ignomin 
ious  tar  and  feathers. 

Jim  Cargan  had  not  risen  from  the  slums  to 
be  master  of  his  town  without  a  keen  sense  of  the 
theatric.  He  ordered  the  police  back  into  the 
car.  "And  stay  there,"  he  demanded.  The  lieu 
tenant  demurred.  One  look  from  the  mayor  sent 
him  scurrying.  Mr.  Cargan  took  from  his  pocket 
a  big  cigar,  and  calmly  lighted  it. 

"Some  of  them  guys  out  there,"  he  remarked 


WELCOMED   HOME  393 

to  Magee,  "belong  to  the  Sunday-school  crowd. 
Pretty  actions  for  them — pillars  of  the  church 
howling  like  beasts." 

And  still,  like  that  of  beasts,  the  mutter  of  the 
mob  went  on,  now  in  an  undertone,  now  louder, 
and  still  that  voice  that  first  had  plead  for  tar 
and  feathers  plead  still — for  feathers  and  tar. 
And  here  a  group  preferred  the  rope. 

And  toward  them,  with  the  bland  smile  of  a 
child  on  his  great  face,  his  cigar  tilted  at  one 
angle,  his  derby  at  another,  the  mayor  of  Reuton 
walked  unflinchingly. 

The  roar  became  mad,  defiant.  But  Cargan 
stepped  forward  boldly.  Now  he  reached  the 
leaders  of  the  mob.  He  pushed  his  way  in  among 
them,  smiling  but  determined.  They  closed  in 
on  him.  A  little  man  got  firmly  in  his  path.  He 
took  the  little  man  by  the  shoulders  and  stood 
him  aside  with  some  friendly  word.  And  now 
he  was  past  ten  rows  or  more  of  them  on  his  way 
through,  and  the  crowd  began  to  scurry  away. 
They  scampered  like  ants,  clawing  at  one  an 
other's  backs  to  make  a  path. 

And  so  finally,  between  two  rows  of  them,  the 


394  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

mayor  of  Reuton  went  his  way  triumphantly. 
Somewhere,  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd,  an  ad 
miring  voice  spoke.  "Hello,  Jim !"  The  mayor 
waved  his  hand.  The  rumble  of  their  voices 
ceased  at  last.  Jim  Cargan  was  still  master  of 
the  city. 

"Say  what  you  will,"  remarked  Mr.  Magee 
to  the  professor  as  they  stood  together  on  the 
platform  of  the  car,  "there  goes  a  man." 

He  did  not  wait  to  hear  the  professor's  answer. 
For  he  saw  the  girl  of  the  Upper  Asquewan  sta 
tion,  standing  on  a  baggage  truck  far  to  the  left 
of  the  mob,  wave  to  him  over  their  heads. 
Eagerly  he  fought  his  way  to  her  side.  It  was 
a  hard  fight,  the  crowd  would  not  part  for  him 
as  it  had  parted  for  the  man  who  owned  the  city, 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  USUAL  THING 

"TTELLO,  Mr.  Hold-up  Man!"     The  girl 

1  1  seized  Mr.  Magee's  proffered  hand  and 
leaped  down  from  the  truck  to  his  side. 

"Bless  the  gods  of  the  mountain,"  said  Ma- 
gee;  "they  have  given  me  back  my  accomplice, 
safe  and  sound." 

"They  were  black  lonesome  gods,"  she  re 
plied,  "and  they  kept  whispering  fearful  things  in 
my  ear  I  couldn't  understand.  I'm  glad  they 
didn't  keep  me." 

"So  am  I."  The  crowd  surged  about  them; 
many  in  it  smiled  and  spoke  admiringly  to  the 
girl.  "It's  great  to  be  acquainted  with  the  hero 
ine  of  the  hour,"  Mr.  Magee  continued.  "I  con 
gratulate  you.  You  have  overthrown  an  empire 
of  graft,  it  seems." 

"Alone    and    unaided,"    she    quoted,    smiling 
mockingly  up  into  his  face. 
395 


396  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"Absolutely  alone  and  entirely  unaided,"  said 
Billy  Magee.  "I'll  swear  to  that  in  court." 

Mrs.  Norton  panted  up  to  them. 

"Hello,  dearie!"  she  cried.  "Thank  heaven 
you're  safe.  Have  you  been  up  to  the  house? 
How's  Sadie  getting  along?  I  just  know  every 
thing  is  topsyturvy." 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Miss  Rhodes.  "Breakfast 
passed  .off  like  clockwork  at  seven,  and  even  Mr. 
Golden  had  no  complaints  to  offer.  Dear,  I 
must  thank  you  for  all  you've  done  for  me.  It 
was  splendid — " 

"Not  now,"  objected  Mrs.  Norton.  "I  got  to 
get  up  to  the  house  now.  What  with  Christmas 
only  two  days  away,  and  a  lot  of  shopping  to  be 
done,  I  can't  linger  in  this  drafty  station  for 
thanks.  I  want  you  to  bring  Mr.  Magee  right 
up  to  the  house  for  lunch.  I'll  have  a  meal  ready 
that'll  show  him  what  suffering  must  have  been 
going  on  inside  me  while  I  sat  still  watching  that 
hermit  man  burlesquing  the  cook  business." 

"Delighted,"  said  Magee.  "I'll  find  you  a  cab." 
He  led  the  way  to  a  row  of  such  vehicles,  Mrs. 
Norton  and  the  girl  following. 


THE   USUAL   THING  397 

"Seems  like  you're  always  putting  me  in  a  cab," 
remarked  the  older  woman  as  she  climbed  inside. 
"I  don't  know  what  Mary  and  me  would  have 
done  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you.  You're  a  mighty 
handy  person  to  have  around,  Mr.  Magee.  Ain't 
he,  dearie?"  She  winked  openly  at  Magee. 

"And  a  delightful  one,"  agreed  the  girl,  in  a 
matter-of-fact  tone. 

Mrs.  Norton  was  driven  away  up  the  snowy 
street.  As  Mr.  Magee  and  the  girl  turned,  they 
beheld  the  Hermit  of  Baldpate  staring  with  un 
disguised  exultation  at  the  tall  buildings  of  Reu- 
ton. 

"Why,  it's  Mr.  Peters!"  the  girl  cried. 

"Yes,"  replied  Magee.  "His  prediction  has 
come  true.  We  and  our  excitement  proved  too 
much  for  him.  He's  going  back  to  Brooklyn  and 
to  her." 

"I'm  so  glad,"  she  cried.  She  stretched  out 
her  hand  to  the  hermit.  He  took  it,  somewhat 
embarrassed. 

"Glad  to  see  you,"  he  said.  "You  certainly 
appear  to  have  stirred  things  up,  miss.  But 
women  are  good  at  that.  I've  always  said — " 


398  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"Mr.  Magee  tells  me  you're  going  back,  after 
all?"  she  broke  in. 

"Yes,"  returned  Peters.  "I  knew  it.  I  told 
you  so.  It  was  all  right  in  the  summer,  when 
the  bands  played,  and  the  warm  wind  was  her- 
miting  on  the  mountain,  too.  But  in  the  fall,  it's 
always  been  hard,  and  I've  heard  the  white  lights 
calling,  calling — why,  I've  even  heard  her — heard 
Ellen.  This  fall  you  came,  and  there  was  some 
thing  doing  on  Baldpate — and  I  knew  that  when 
you  went,  I'd  just  naturally  have  to  go,  too.  So 
— I'm  going." 

"Splendid,"  commented  the  girl. 

"It'll  be  somewhat  delicate,"  continued  the  her 
mit,  "bursting  in  on  Ellen  after  all  these  years. 
As  I  told  Mr.  Magee,  I  wish  I  had  an  inaugural 
address,  or  something  like  that." 

"I  have  it,"  responded  Evelyn  Rhodes.  "I'll 
write  a  story  about  you  for  to-morrow  morning's 
paper.  All  about  how  the  Christmas  spirit  has 
overcome  the  Hermit  of  Baldpate,  and  how  he's 
going  back  to  his  wife,  with  his  heart  filled  with 
love  for  her — it  is  filled,  isn't  it  ?" 


THE  USUAL  THING  399 

"Well,  yes,"  agreed  Mr.  Peters.  "I  reckon 
you  might  call  it  that." 

"And  then  you  can  send  her  a  copy  of  the 
paper,  and  follow  it  up  in  person." 

"A  good  idea,"  commented  Billy  Magee. 

"At  first  glance,  yes,"  studied  Peters.  "But, 
on  the  other  hand,  it  would  be  the  death  knell 
of  my  post-card  business,  and  I'm  calculating  to 
go  back  to  Baldpate  next  summer  and  take  it 
up  again.  No,  I'm  afraid  I  can't  let  it  be  gen 
erally  known  that  I've  quit  living  in  a  shack  on 
the  mountain  for  love  of  somebody  or  other." 

"Once  more,"  smiled  Magee,  "big  business 
muzzles  the  press." 

"Not  that  I  ain't  obliged  to  you  for  the  offer," 
added  the  hermit. 

"Of  course,"  said  the  girl,  "I  understand.  And 
I  wish  you  the  best  of  luck — along  with  a  merry 
Christmas." 

"The  same  to  you,"  replied  the  hermit  heartily. 

"Miss — er — Miss  Rhodes  and  I  will  see  you 
again,"  predicted  Mr.  Magee,  "next  summer  at 
Baldpate  Inn." 


400  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

The  hermit  looked  at  the  girl,  who  turned  her 
face  away. 

"I  hope  it'll  turn  out  that  way,  I'm  sure,"  he 
said.  "I'll  let  you  have  a  reduction  on  all  post 
cards,  just  for  old  times'  sake.  Now  I  must  find 
out  about  the  New  York  trains." 

He  melted  into  th^  crowd,  an  odd  figure  still, 
his  garb  in  a  fashion  long  forgotten,  his  clumsily 
hacked  hair  brushing  the  collar  of  his  ancient 
coat.  Magee  and  the  girl  found  the  check  room, 
and  after  he  had  been  relieved  of  the  burden  of 
his  baggage,  set  out  up  the  main  street  of  Reuton. 
It  was  a  typical  up-state  town,  deep  in  the  throes 
of  the  holiday  season.  The  windows  of  the  stores 
were  green  with  holly ;  the  faces  of  the  passers-by 
reflected  the  excitements  of  Christmas  and  of  the 
upheaval  in  civic  politics  which  were  upon  them 
almost  together. 

"Tell  me,"  said  the  girl,  "are  you  glad — at  the 
way  it  has  turned  out?  Are  you  glad  I  was  no 
lady  Captain  Kidd?" 

"It  has  all  turned  out—or  is  about  to  turn  out 
— beautifully,"  Mr.  Magee  answered.  "You  may 
remember  that  on  the  veranda  of  Baldpate  Inn  I 


THE   USUAL   THING  401 

spoke  of  one  summer  hotel  flirtation  that:  was 
going  to  prove  more  than  that.  Let  me — " 

Her  laugh  interrupted. 

"You  don't  even  know  my  name." 

"What's  the  matter  with  Evelyn  Rhodes?" 
suggested  Magee. 

"Nothing.  It's  a  perfectly  good  name.  But  it 
isn't  mine.  I  just  write  under  it." 

"I  prefer  Mary,  anyhow,"  smiled  Billy  Magee. 
"She  called  you  that.  It's  Mary." 

"Mary  what?" 

"You  have  no  idea,"  said  he,  "how  immaterial 
that  is." 

They  came  upon  a  throng  blocking  the  sidewalk 
in  front  pf  a  tall  building  of  stone.  The  eyes  of 
the  throng  were  on  bulletins ;  it  muttered  much  as 
they  had  muttered  who  gathered  in  the  station. 

'The  office  of  the  Star''  explained  the  girl. 
"The  crowd  is  looking  for  new  excitement.  Do 
you  know,  for  two  whole  hours  this  morning  we 
had  on  exhibition  in  the  window  a  certain  pack 
age — a  package  of  money!" 

"I  think,"  smiled  Magee,  "I've  seen  it  some 
where." 


402  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

"I  think  you  have.  Drayton  came  and  took  it 
from  us  as  soon  as  he  heard.  But  it  was  the  very 
best  proof  we  could  have  offered  the  people.  They 
like  to  see  for  themselves.  It's  a  passion  with 
them.  We've  done  for  Cargan  forever." 

"Cargan  says  he  will  fight." 

"Of  course  he  will,"  she  replied.  "But  this  will 
prove  Napoleon's  Waterloo.  Whether  or  not  he 
is  sent  to  prison — and  perhaps  he  can  escape  that, 
he's  very  clever — his  power  in  Reuton  is  broken. 
He  can't  possibly  win  at  the  next  election — it 
comes  very  soon.  I'm  so  glad.  For  years  our 
editor  has  been  fighting  corruption,  in  the  face  of 
terrible  odds  and  temptations.  I'm  so  glad  it's 
'yver  now — and  the  Star  has  won." 

"Through  you,"  said  Magee  softly. 

"With— some  one— to  help,"  she  smiled.  "I 
must  go  up-stairs  now  and  find  out  what  new  task 
is  set  for  me." 

Mr.  Magee  postponed  the  protest  on  the  tip  of 
his  tongue,  and,  climbing  the  gloomy  stairs  that 
newspapers  always  affect,  they  came  into  the  city 
room  of  the  Star.  Though  the  paper  had  been 
long  on  the  street,  the  excitement  of  the  greatest 


THE   USUAL   THING  403 

coup  of  years  still  lingered  in  the  place.  Magee 
saw  the  deferential  smiles  that  greeted  the  girl, 
and  watched  her  as  she  made  her  way  to  the  city 
editor's  desk.  In  a  moment  she  was  back  at  his 
side. 

"I've  got  my  assignment,"  she  smiled  ruefully. 
They  descended  to  the  street.  "It's  wonderful," 
she  went  on,  "how  curt  a  city  editor  can  be  with 
any  one  who  pulls  off  a  good  story.  The  job  I've 
got  now  reminds  me  of  the  experience  of  an  old 
New  York  reporter  who  used  to  work  on  the 
Star.'9 

With  difficulty  they  threaded  their  way  through 
the  crowd,  and  moved  along  beside  the  green- 
decked  windows. 

"He  was  the  first  man  sent  out  by  his  paper  on 
Park  Row  on  the  Spanish  War  assignment,"  she 
went  on,  "and  he  behaved  rather  brilliantly,  I  be 
lieve.  Well,  he  came  back  after  the  fight  was 
over,  all  puffed  up  and  important,  and  they  told 
him  the  city  editor  wanted  him.  They're  going 
to  send  me  to  the  Philippines,'  he  told  me  he 
thought  as  he  went  into  the  presence.  When  the 
city  editor  ordered  him  to  rush  down  to  a  two- 


404  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

alarm  fire  in  Houston  Street  he  nearly  collapsed. 
I  know  how  he  felt.    I  feel  that  way  now." 

"What  was  it — a  one-alarm  fire?"  asked  Ma- 
gee. 

"No,"  she  replied,  "a  sweet  little  story  about 
the  Christmas  toys.  I've  done  it  to  death  every 
Christmas  for — three  years.  Oh,  well,  I  can  do 
it  again.  But  it'll  have  to  wait  until  after  Mrs. 
Norton's  lunch." 

She  led  him  into  a  street  where  every  house 
was  like  its  neighbor,  even  to  the  "Rooms"  sign 
in  the  windows,  and  up  the  steps  of  one  she  could 
have  recognized  only  by  counting  from  the  cor- 
ner.  They  entered  the  murky  and  stereotyped 
atmosphere  pf  a  boarding-house  hallway,  with 
its  inevitable  hat-rack  and  the  uncollected  letters 
of  the  homeless  on  a  table.  Mrs.  Norton  came 
breezily  forth  to  meet  them. 

"Well,  Mr.  Magee,"  she  said,  "I  certainly  am 
glad  you've  came.  I'm  busy  on  that  lunch  now. 
Dearie,  show  him  into  the  parlor  to  wait." 

Mr.  Magee  was  shown  in.  That  rooming- 
house  parlor  seemed  to  moan  dismally  as  it  re 
ceived  him.  He  strolled  about  and  gazed  at  the 


THE  USUAL;  THING         405 

objects  of  art  which  had  at  various  times  accrued 
to  Mrs.  Norton's  personality:  a  steel  engraving 
called  Too  Late,  which  depicted  an  angry  father 
arriving  at  a  church  door  to  find  his  eloping 
daughter  in  the  arms  of  stalwart  youth,  with 
the  clergy  looking  on  approvingly;  another  of 
Mr.  John  Drew  assuming  a  commanding  posture 
as  Petruchio  in  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew;  some 
ennuied  flabby  angels  riding  on  the  clouds;  a 
child  of  unhealthy  pink  clasping  lovingly  an  in 
flammable  dog;  on  the  mantel  a  miniature  ship, 
under  glass,  and  some  lady  statuettes  whose  toil 
ettes  slipped  down — down. 

And,  on  an  easel,  the  sad  portrait  of  a  gentle 
man,  undoubtedly  the  late  lamented  Norton.  His 
uninteresting  nose  appeared  to  turn  up  at  the  con 
stant  odor  of  cookery  in  which  it  dwelt;  his  hair 
was  plastered  down  over  his  forehead  in  a 
gorgeous  abandoned  curve  such  as  some  of  the 
least  sophisticated  pf  Mr.  John  T.  McCutcheon's 
gentlemen  affect. 

Mr.  Magee  stared  round  the  room  and  smiled. 
Was  the  romance  of  reality  never  to  resemble  the 
romance  of  his  dreams?  Where  were  the  dim 


'406     SEVEN    KEYS   TO    BALDPATE 

lights,  where  the  distant  waltz,  where  the  magic 
of  moonlight  amid  which  he  was  some  day  to 
,  have  told  a  beautiful  girl  of  his  love  ?  Hardly  in 
Mrs.  Norton's  parlor. 

She  came  and  stood  in  the  doorway.  Hatless, 
coatless,  smiling,  she  flooded  the  place  with  her 
beauty.  Mr.  Magee  looked  at  the  flabby  angels 
on  the  wall,  expecting  them  to  hide  their  faces  in 
shame.  But  no,  they  still  rode  brazenly  their  un 
stable  clouds. 

"Come  in,"  he  cried.  "Don't  leave  me  alone 
here  again,  please.  And  tell  me — is  this  the  gen 
tleman  who  took  the  contract  for  making  Mrs, 
Norton  happy?" 

"I — I  can't  come  in,"  she  said,  blushing.  She 
seemed  to  wish  to  avoid  him.  "Yes,  that  is  Mr. 
Norton."  She  came  nearer  the  easel,  and  smiled 
at  the  late  lamented's  tonsorial  crown.  "I  must 
leave  you — just  a  moment — " 

Billy  Magee's  heart  beat  wildly.  His  breath 
came  fast.  He  seized  her  by  the  hand. 

"You're  never  going  to  leave  me  again,"  he 
cried.  "Don't  you  know  that?  I  thought  you 
knew.  You're  mine.  I  Ipve  you.  I  love  you. 


THE   USUAL   THING  407 

It's  all  I  can  say,  my  dearest.  Look  at  me — look 
at  me,  please." 

"It  has  happened  so  quickly,"  she  murmured. 
"Things  can't  be  true  when  they — happen  so 
quickly." 

"A  woman's  logic,"  said  Mr.  Magee.  "It  has 
happened.  My  beautiful  girl.  Look  at  me." 

And  then — she  looked.  Trembling,  flushed, 
half  frightened,  half  exultant,  she  lifted  her  eyes 
to  his. 

"My  little  girl !"  he  cried  down  at  her. 

A  moment  longer  she  held  off,  and  then  limply 
she  surrendered.  And  Billy  Magee  held  her  close 
in  his  arms. 

"Take  care  of  me,"  she  whispered.  "I — I  love 
you  so."  Her  arm  went  timidly  about  his  shoul 
ders.  "Do  you  want  to  know  my  name?  It's 
Mary—" 

Mary  what?  The  answer  was  seemingly  of  no 
importance,  for  Mr.  Magee's  lips  were  on  hers, 
crushing  the  word  at  its  birth. 

So  they  stood,  amid  Mrs.  Norton's  gloomy  ob 
jects  of  art.  And  presently  she  asked : 

"How  about  the  book,  dear?" 


408  SEVEN  KEYS  TO  BALDPATE 

But  Mr.  Magee  had  forgot. 

"What  book?"  he  asked. 

"The  novel  you  went  to  Baldpate  to  write. 
Don't  you  remember,  dearest — no  melodrama,  no 
wild  chase,  no — love?" 

"Why — "  Mr.  Magee  paused  for  a  moment  in 
the  joy  of  his  discovery.  Then  he  came  back  to 
the  greater  joy  in  his  arms. 

"Why,  darling,"  he  explained  gently,  "this 
is  it" 


THE  END 


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